OPIUM
by Nikt Wazny
Summary: The Selection was just another reality show with girls fighting over prince's attention. There was no need to fear for one's life... right? (SYOC closed)
1. The cast

**ROYAL FAMILY**

**CROWN PRINCE OLEANDER SCHREAVE.  
**_One, 21 years old, fc: Luke Hemmings  
_Oleander is the only son of Queen Vivian and King Reginald, and the heir to the Illéan throne. He's two hours older than his twin sister, Ophelia and, just like her, known in the country for his lack of knowledge in politics and economics. He's an artist, almost cliché one, with his clothes covered in paint, addiction to coffee and tea, smoking because it looks cool, and always feeling that no one understands him. He's also moody, spends his time mostly with two friends (both of whom are not entirely accepted amongst upper class) and would rather do photoshoots with the crown on than do some actual work.

**DUCHESS MARGARET SAFFRON IOSUA.  
**_Two, 25 years old, fc: Shanina Shaik  
_Saffron, or Margaret Saffron, is the oldest child of King Reginald and one of his Selected, Lady Hi'ilani Iosua. Although she was never officially legitimized nor considered in line of succession, she has lots of supporters in Illéa, mostly thanks to her hard work and how invested she is in country's business. She's the perfect princess material – never was a part of any scandal, is the synonym of politeness, always knows how to act and address people, actively supports lower castes and, just like her mother, works on some projects to make education system in Waverly better.

**PRINCESS OPHELIA SCHREAVE.  
**_One, 21 years old, fc: Alexandria Morgan  
_Ophelia is the second child of Queen Vivian and King Reginald, and two hours younger twin of Oleander. She's known around the country as the sweet, storybook princess – with long, blonde hair, light eyes, and beautiful, delicate face. Many people like to laugh and say she's all looks and no brain – and there's some truth in that statement, because Ophelia mostly cares about appearance only. Just like Oleander she knows close to nothing about her own country's politics and affairs, she's constantly appearing in gossip magazines and loves being in the centre of attention.

**KING REGINALD II SCHREAVE.  
**_One, 47 years old, fc: Matthew McConaughey  
_Reginald, the current king of Illéa and the oldest child of late king William and his wife, Jaquelyn, is a controversial figure, mostly because of the course of his Selection and his affair with Lady Hi'ilani. He's invested in country's affairs, focuses most of his energy in ruling Illéa; although he tries, he doesn't have a good connection with neither Oleander nor Ophelia, and the only child he spends a lot of time with is Saffron – that's also one of the reasons so many people want to see her as the queen. Two years ago he had a serious car accident – he's blind since, so he tries to get Oleander interested in his work to make sure his condition doesn't affect the country in any way.

**QUEEN VIVIAN SCHREAVE.  
**_One, 46 years old, fc: Michelle Pfeiffer  
_Before marrying Reginald, Vivian was a well known Two that just started her career as an actress. During the Selection, she was one of the favourites thanks to her perfect manners and intellect. She won, mostly thanks to her name and great results in all classes and tasks; unfortunately, for first seven years she wasn't able to carry the pregnancies to term and miscarried several times. After the birth of Oleander and Ophelia she never tried to get pregnant again and reduced her contact with Reginald to minimum. After her marriage fiasco she became cold and distanced; her kids are the only people she loves unconditionally and would die for.

**LADY HI'ILANI IOSUA.  
**_Three, 49 years old, fc: Shannyn Sossamon  
_Hi'ilani, a Six turned Three, was one of the Selected during King Reginald's Selection. For a long time everyone thought she'd win – it was clear Reginald fell in love with her at the very beginning and their connection was strong. In the end her birth caste was the reason she didn't win; but Hi'ilani continued working in politics, and soon her romance with Reginald flourished again. Saffron's birth changed everything for her – she became even more recognisable, started to appear more in the palace, and made sure her daughter was given a title. She focuses her energy on supporting lover castes, is considered kind and loyal by many, but is a bad mother and her relation with Saffron is complicated.


	2. Chapter 1

**O'Hannagain's Pub, Los Angeles, Angeles, Illéa  
Margaret Saffron Iosua, Duchess of Waverly**

Saffron took a deep breath and entered a dark pub situated at the end of the alley – the guard at the door must have recognized her face because he didn't even ask for any kind of document. Good for him – Saffron wasn't in the mood for dealing with him, she only came here to get Oleander.

O'Hannagain's was an interesting place listed as one of the best bars in whole Los Angeles – and half of Illéa wanted to go there at least once. Inspired by old pubs in Ireland, all in dark wood, was supposedly selling the best alcohol. There was only one little catch – O'Hannagain's wasn't only very expensive, it also had a special guests list and, if the gossip were true, it was extremely hard to get on that list. Not that Saffron knew that from experience – when she came there for the first time, she threatened the staff she'll get back with military if they won't let her in to take Oleander.

She never had a problem getting in ever again.

Just as she expected, Oleander was sitting in a very corner of a huge, dark room, with his blond hair loose and messed up, and a cigarette in his mouth, his two best friends at his side.

Dashiell Sullivan, a handsome young man from perfectly respected family of Twos, was mimicking Oleander's pose, but instead of a cigarette he was holding a glass of alcohol of some sort (and seriously, drinking this early on a day? Saffron couldn't find even one reason why his constant presence at Oleander's side was accepted by His Majesty, even more so when she knew about his excessive drinking). He was bobbing his head to the soft beat of a song Finley Bryant was playing on his guitar.

From the two of them, Saffron definitely preferred Finley – even though he was just a Four and had no connections to offer, he seemed sensible enough to calm Oleander's temper a little and remind him of his duties if there was a need.

"Oleander" Saffron started, ignoring the way her brother flinched when he heard her. "You better have some good reason for ignoring my calls, or else you're in big trouble."

Dashiell, the only one who was facing her, just smiled at her and stood up, glass still in hand.

"Duchess Saffron, how nice to see you. You look more beautiful than ever!"

She ignored him the same way she ignored him every time he tried to charm her. If she hurt him in the process – he kept it to himself and never said a thing. It's not that she didn't like him – Dashiell was, in fact, a charming (or _dashing_, as some would say) young man, often fun to be around and always full of energy – he just wasn't her type. With his carelessness and a habit of flirting with every single woman he met he was all she always avoided in people – even if she liked talking to him from time to time.

Today however she had neither the energy nor patience to put up with his shit.

"Dashiell, Finley, it's lovely to see you too, but Oleander and I need to go **now.** Royal business, hope you understand."

Unfortunately, Dashiell didn't understand.

"Always so formal" he laughed and took a large sip from his glass; he approached her with a mischievous smile. "The day's still young, 'm sure whatever it is can wait a lil bit. Take a drink with us!"

"No, thank you."

Normally Saffron's cold gaze would discourage any admirer but it didn't affect Dashiell in the slightest – after all, they knew each other for a while, they had their fair share of conversations and could look past the facade the other was pulling.

"Now, if you excuse us, we have to go."

Oleander finally moved – only to glare at her from his spot on the couch.

"Why the hell would I want to go with you? I'm not stepping foot in the palace as long as that bitch stays there."

Saffron gasped – she knew Oleander wouldn't just listen to her but she wasn't expecting _that_. However, before she even said a word, Finley looked up from his guitar and stepped in.

"Ander." It was a warning paired with a steely glare, and Saffron couldn't be more grateful for it. She had to take a deep breath to calm herself and not act on her emotions. She was king's daughter, after all, she had to know how to keep her anger and hurt at bay.

"She already left" she decided to say; now was not the time nor the place to have a discussion with Oleander about how he addressed people, especially how he addressed _her._ "Father needs to talk to you, something important, and we better go now. He was already furious when he asked me to find you."

Oleander sighed and run his fingers through his hair.

"You have any idea what he wants?"

He had another reason why he was reluctant to go back, Saffron could sense it, she just had no idea what could it be. Clearly he hadn't despised lady Hi'ilani this much, he never had a problem holding a polite conversation with her. Whatever was occupying his mind had to be of bigger importance than one woman invading their home and claiming it to be hers as well.

Saffron knew Oleander way to well, and she also knew now wasn't the time to ask questions.

"I have a vague idea but it's not my place to tell you."

She didn't want to be the one to have this conversation with him; it was already enough she had to find him and bring him home, she wasn't going to be the one breaking the news to him.

People called her a _diplomat_ and they might've been right about that.

Finley was still looking at her, his bright, grey eyes shimmering in the dark room. He stood up and gestured towards Oleander.

"C'mon Ander, it's time for you to go back and do some work."

There was some strange fondness in the way he tucked Oleander's locks behind his ear and caressed his chin – and to Saffron's surprise, Ander didn't flee from the touch, just locked eyes with Finley and sighed again.

"Fine. Let's go. Don't wanna make the old man angry" he said and got up.

It wasn't like him, being this chilled at the prospect of being reprimanded, once again; and Saffron knew she had to talk with him, as soon as possible. They were always close – or rather, as close as the constant fight between their supporters allowed them – she hoped he would trust her with whatever was bothering him.

They got outside, the guards waiting and ready to take them to the palace, safe and sound (and hopefully unnoticed by paparazzis' hungry eyes).

* * *

King Reginald II of Illéa was, in fact, furious.

When Saffron entered his office, with Oleander in tow, their father was already waiting, his unseeing eyes staring into space where he knew doors were. He had some documents laid on the table and he clutched a pen so hard his knuckles were practically white.

He flinched slightly when he heard them enter and for a moment just sat there in silence.

"Thank you, Amanda, you may go now."

Amanda Byers, King's personal assistant, curtsied and left the office; the silence fell for another long moment after the doors closed.

"You too, Saffron" said Reginald and put away the pen. "Please, go outside."

Saffron wanted to object, say she had the right to know what they were going to talk about, since it was her, not Oleander, who helped with all the work after (and before) the accident, but Reginald repeated in the coolest tone:

"Now."

Saffron felt how tight all her muscles were and she hoped nobody could tell; she just nodded and left the room, leaving Oleander alone in the beast's den.

Honestly, she was tired of playing the messenger between His Majesty and his son. She understood perfectly why her – she was too kind to say no, and she was always close to Oleander, much closer than the King. It was only natural he asked her to help him and as much as she enjoyed it at the beginning, with time it became just tiring and irritating. Helping them communicate and playing Oleander's nanny were two different things and she never signed up for the second.

She guessed that was what being an older sibling was about.

Saffron sighed and headed to her room; when His Majesty asked her about Oleander's whereabouts and ordered her to find him, she was in the middle of a letter to Waverly's major – she had some new ideas regarding her schooling project and wanted to share them and talk them over. Now, that Olender was in the palace, far away from paparazzis' hungry eyes she could go back to work.

"Margaret."

Or maybe not.

Always Margaret, never Saffron, as if calling her her first name brought some sort of pleasure to the Queen, made her feel a little bit better about having her husband and some other woman's child under her roof. As if seeing her grimace every time she heard _that name_ made her day a little brighter and her life a little less unbearable.

She turned slowly and put on her kindest smile.

"Your Majesty."

Queen Vivian just looked at her with those bright blue eyes that seemed to see right through her soul and slowly smiled back.

Saffron could swear the temperature dropped a few degrees.

"I heard you found Oleander." Vivian turned away and sat in a chair in her own little study. Saffron took it as her cue to come in and silently closed the door behind her. She was hardly allowed to come in here – and no wonder, her relationship with Her Majesty was, after all, complicated, and although they had some pleasant memories, there was this hostility that Saffron could never brush away – but being here once again Saffron had to admit that Queen's study was one of the brightest, warmest rooms in whole palace. With huge windows facing south and walls and furniture all shades of beige, it was just a nice place to sit in and contemplate.

Saffron sat in a chair in front the desk – and Vivian smiled at her again, only this time much warmer.

"He was with this boy again, wasn't he?" she asked with concern visible in her eyes.

"Yes, he was" Saffron admitted. There was no point in lying, now, was there? It wasn't the first time Oleander ended up in O'Hannagain's with his friends and definitely not the last one. "I'm actually concerned about how much time he spends with Dashiell. He's not good company, might get him into trouble."

Queen furrowed her brows.

"Dashiell Sullivan? He might be a bit of a playboy but it's not him that worries me."

Saffron couldn't believe what she was hearing. Everything about Dashiell Sullivan was worrying – from his excessive drinking to his habit of appearing in all gossip magazines, always in the center of a scandal. He was bad news, not a fitting company for the future king of Illéa.

"Finley Bryant?" she asked, amazed. "He's an angel compared to Dashiell, never got in any trouble, is polite and calm. I don't see what's there to worry? Or is it his caste?"

She wouldn't put it past Her Majesty to be wary of someone because of their caste – she was born Two, probably heard the same story full of prejudice towards lower castes all highborn heard and repeated. But Vivian just looked at her funny, as if she knew something Saffron didn't know.

"Oh trust me, Margaret, his caste is the last thing that concerns me."

Saffron didn't understand what she meant – what was so special, so threatening about Finley that made her worry about her son's wellbeing?

"Sometimes it's so hard to understand him" continued Vivian and for a moment Saffron was sure she was still talking about Finley. Her Majesty stood up and stopped at her side, her long beautiful finger playing with Saffron's hair. "I wish I could talk with him just like we used to, when he was little. He was such a sweet kid, always so honest and open. He and Ophelia both made this place so much brighter."

Now that, Saffron knew where _that_ was coming from – it was almost three weeks since Ophelia had gone to Paris and Vivian must have missed her daughter. It happened sometimes – Her Majesty would come to Saffron's room, to braid her hair or help her choose a dress just because she missed her children – but it always surprised and confused Saffron. She wished she could tell what exactly Her Majesty felt towards her but the constant changes from cold to warm and other way around only made it harder to understand.

The relationship with her own mother, on the other hand, was much easier to define.

"I wish I could tell he'll take the news well but I guess we both know that's just wishful thinking."

Ah. The dreaded news his father was now breaking to him. Saffron smiled despite herself; she knew Oleander will be furious the moment he learns the King's plan and yet there was some irony in the situation, how after all the years of rebellion and writing songs about staying single for the rest of his life he would still have to go through one of the oldest Illéan traditions.

As if on cue, familiar voice yelled "There's no way I'm doing that!" and doors at the end of the hallway slammed, loud.

The hands braiding her hair disappeared.

"Yes, he's certainly displeased" Saffron said as she stood up and left Her Majesty alone.

* * *

**Hi everyone! Did I just start my first SYOC from prince's half-sister perspective? Yes, I did, guilty as charged. But don't worry, you'll get to know Oleander in the next chapter, promise!**

**You'll find the form and the rules on my profile, there's also link to Opium's pinterest board if anyone's interested.**

**I hope you'll enjoy this story just as much as I enjoy writing it!**


	3. Chapter 2

**At the end of this paragraph you'll find trigger warnings. Please note that trigger warnings contain spoilers for the chapter: if your wellbeing allows it and you don't want to know the content of this chapter beforehand, just skip this part and go right to next paragraph. Trigger warnings: drug use and cussing.**

* * *

**The Royal Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles, Illéa  
Crown Prince Oleander of Illéa**

Oleander felt a little guilty, running away like that from his father's study, but the moment he heard the dreaded words, he had to get out of there, and fast.

_The Selection. As if._

Instead of going to his room – something father probably expected after the show he just put on – he took turn to the garage, a place he hardly ever frequented. Thankfully, after the accident, the keys to all the cars were kept in a little cupboard near the entrance and not in father's office like they used to; he actually had a chance of getting out before someone finds him. Good thing father's assistance dog wasn't with him.

The garage was a simple hangar with grey walls and concrete floor, looking more like a garage in one of many cheap residential blocks all over LA, and not something owned by the royal family. Bare. Boring. Lifeless. Not painting worthy and just plain ridiculous compared to the excessive splendor of the whole palace. It seemed either Gregory Illéa never step foot in that place or used all his funds on filling more than fifty guest rooms with unnecessary luxuries. He either was totally nuts or already planned one of his future offspring to have a Selection; which, if true, only further proved he was nuts.

Either way, Oleander wasn't a fan of the garage – although it sometimes provided a good scope for the imagination, most days it only took the rest of his creativity away. He quickly took keys to a black, shining Ferrari, his father's favourite car from before the accident, and ignored the weird look one of the guards gave him.

"I'm going for a ride, if anyone asks I'll be back for dinner" he said simply, already opening car's door.

He didn't plan on going back for dinner.

"Your Royal Highness…"

"Do NOT follow me" he added quickly, rudely interrupting the guard. "I don't wanna attract attention, and black cars following me around are definitely gonna do that."

He wanted to get out, just for a moment, just to have enough time to think everything through. And yes, running away a moment after he came back wasn't something that a person of his position was supposed to do, but damn, if his life was going to change so drastically, he at least deserved a last taste of freedom, didn't he?

He was already inside, basking in the smell of expensive leather, when he heard it – the unmistakable sound of someone wearing high heels coming his way. He didn't even have to turn his head to know who stood by the car, looking at him expectedly.

"You know running won't change anything, right? It'll only make His Majesty even more determined to organise the Selection and have you married by the end of it."

No matter where she was, Saffron always had this aura of power and confidence around her, an aura much more distinct than those of Oleander or Ophelia. She moved with grace, like one of those medieval ladies, all feminine and yet strong at the same time. She was the perfect heroine for some tragic ballad, about a girl that deserved a world but was given nothing, about a child paying for her parents' crimes, about a woman everyone adored and wanted to get close to, even if just for a moment. Maybe that's why mother despised her so much; because Saffron was a true princess in all except name. And now, standing right next to him, she emanated such an energy, Oleander had to fight against listening to her and staying in the palace.

He loved her, he really did, but sometimes her rationality was infuriating.

Oleander turned around and stared, hard, into space.

"I know. I'm going anyway."

He heard her sigh; he braced himself for some lecture that was sure as hell coming.

"Just don't drive into a tree" she just said to his surprise. "And don't take too long, okay?"

Oleander didn't answer – Saffron knew him too well to believe whatever answer he gave. She stepped away and he launched the car; the engine purred, the mere sound music to his ears.

He left the garage with Saffron's attentive eyes on him.

He didn't remember the last time he just took a ride around town; he was so used to chauffeurs driving him everywhere that the steering wheel in his hands just felt unnatural.

The moment he passed the gates leading into the palace, the invisible pressure on his lungs disappeared as if it was never there in the first place. He pressed the gas pedal a little harder, watched his surroundings quickly become one blurred mass. He was probably breaking the law now, driving so fast, but he couldn't bring himself to care – the adrenaline was kicking in, besides, the palace was situated in the far outskirts of Los Angeles, surrounded by steppe, with very few trees here and there, so no one was in danger.

As much as he would love to keep speeding up, the moment he saw first buildings, he slowed down. He had his phone in hand already, looking for the right number.

Thank god Dashiell never parted with his phone, or else Oleander would have no idea what to do with himself.

"Dash, you still at O'Hannagain's?" he asked the moment familiar voice said _hello_.

"No, man, we left moment after you did. I'm at home, Fin…"

"I'll be there in ten" Oleander interrupted and hung up; he needed someone to talk to and Dashiell and him were friends since they were kids. And who would understand him better than another man struggling with parents organising his whole future, wife included?

There was Saffron – the closest one to him when it came to responsibilities but even though she knew the job and was actively helping father, she had no shadow of a wedding hanging above her; she was free to choose whoever she wished to, or no one at all, because she was _the illegitimate child_. The inferior one. The one no other royal family would want, not when they have the legitimate kids to choose from.

Fuck people and their stupid social concepts.

There was also Finley – the kind and ever understanding Finley – but he was a Four; just like Saffron, he didn't have to worry about marriage, plus his parents were the kindest people on earth, they would never force their only son into any relationship he didn't want. Fin could understand many things and Oleander loved him for that, but this one he just wouldn't.

And, if Oleander was honest with himself, just mere thought of discussing his possible marriage with _Fin_ of all people made him uncomfortable for reasons he feared saying out loud.

He was already entering Malibu Colony Beach, probably the most beautiful neighborhood in whole LA (because of course a rich fucker like Dash wouldn't settle for anything less fancy) and somehow managed not being recognised; sure, people still stared, probably because not everyday they saw Ferrari on the streets, but no one saw his face. Sometimes he didn't mind the attention but right now he wasn't in a mood for photos and overexcited teenage girls surrounding him as if he was some animal in a zoo.

Dashiell's house looked like taken out of a young girl's dream – all white with addition of dark brown wood, with high, spacious windows, surrounded by trees and just few meters from the beach. Expensive but not obnoxiously so; classy and perfectly blending with its surroundings. An idyll in a middle of a big city, so serene it seemed unreal.

Oleander loved this place, loved it much more than he would ever love the Royal Palace.

Dashiell opened the door the moment Oleander got out of car – probably heard him. He was as much a part of this little paradise he created, as the house itself – every girls' dream, with his dark hair, smile that made all knees go weak and neverending flirting. He was wearing washed out jeans and split print shirt, unbuttoned and hanging loosely from his armes. Ander was sure the girls that stopped nearby when he parked were now staring at Dashiell, awestruck; and Oleander didn't blame them, it was actually hard to take eyes of his friend. He had the perfect body, sculpted like one of those ancient greece statues. He was muscular (ripped as some claimed) but not enough to be called buffed or stocky; something neither he nor Fin could ever achieve. That combined with his symmetrical face, with those sharp cheekbones one could cut themself on, he was just perfection personified. No wonder so many people wanted his attention, Ander would act the same if not for the fact he spent last eighteen years constantly in Dashiell's presence.

"Something happened?" Dash asked the moment the door opened. Ander only shrugged, passed him and sat on a couch in a wide living room.

"I was actually getting ready for a date, since you and Fin ditched me, but go ahead, make yourself at home."

Oleander sighed and without even looking at his friend asked:

"Can you cancel?"

Dashiell must've expected that – they were friends for so long he must've noticed something was amiss – but he still looked startled by Ander's question.

"Well, I don't mind spending the evening with that pretty face of yours, babe, but better give me a good reason, 'cause that girl's a freaking goddess." There was a playful glint in his eyes that made him look younger, more like a high schooler and less like an adult. Oleander had to turn his head, looking into those clear eyes was too much to handle at the moment.

"I'm having a Selection."

He was expecting it – the silence that fell the moment he said it out loud, for the first time admitting it since his father told him. It made him feel a little less confused and a little angrier.

He sniggered, not able to contain the emotions inside.

"He just fuckin said it and expected me to understand. Like hell I will."

He felt the couch bend, the unmistakable sing Dashiell decided to join him, but couldn't tear his gaze from the beautiful view in front of him – the perfect, light sand and clear water in the distance, people walking around and having fun, not aware of others' misery.

"Why now?" Dash asked and Oleander had no idea what to do beside sniggering again.

"The fuck if I know" he said, just letting all the anger go. "He just said some stuff how I'm old enough and need to settle. The usual shit, you know the drill."

That's why Dashiell was the best choice to let the steam off – because he heard the same thing too many damn times, he got what it meant and how it felt, being manhandled like that.

"It doesn't make sense." It was nice having a friend that was always on his side, no matter what. "You didn't do anything that could upset the country, people are calm, it's not even your birthday! It just doesn't make sense, to do it now…"

They both just took a moment to think, watching the happier, more colorful world outside the window.

"He's gonna do it" Oleander finally said, voice heavy and tired. "Dunno why, but he's gonna, I just know it. And yeah, I always knew it was coming, but it would be nice to have some heads up, y'know?"

He turned his head, to look at Dashiell, only to find him looking back already. His eyes were even more blue from up close, irises big and clear like the sea outside.

"Yeah, heads up would be nice, I guess." Dashiell stood up and took out his phone, clearly with intention of calling someone. In the silence Oleander could hear the phone dialing. "Hi, beautiful, Dashiell here. We won't be able to meet today, my brother needs me, he's sick, poor thing. Yes, I'm sorry too, but I can't just leave him alone, hurting. You're a treasure, sweetheart, thank you for understanding! I'll call you, yeah, miss you already."

Oleander lifted his brows.

"Sick brother?" he asked, not able to contain his amusement. "Does she know you don't have one?"

Dashiell smiled and winked.

"I do, we just have different surnames, that's all."

It was in moments like this when Oleander fully realised how lucky he was to have a friend like Dashiell; and it was true, they were like brothers, knew each other their whole lives, saw each other every day, could trust the other with everything and always had each others' back. Dashiell was the only creature on this planet that knew his every secret and probably the only one that accepted him fully.

"Thanks, Dash, love you too" he said simply and smiled gratefully. "So, wanna go somewhere or do we stay here, watch some Netflix and drink until we forget everything? It's gonna take a while before they open any clubs and I'm sure as hell not staying sober until then."

He wanted to get drunk, forget for a moment the whole _you gotta settle and give the crown an heir_ problem. He was twenty one, for god's sake, he wasn't marrying anyone until thirty, the crown can go to hell.

Dashiell grinned.

"I have a better idea. How about we take that fancy car of yours, go somewhere quiet and get high? I have weed, best in LA, you gonna love it."

It was a much better idea, indeed, and Oleander found himself standing up, car keys already in his hand.

"Alright, take it and get your ass outside. I haven't smoked in ages!"

It felt much nicer, sitting in this expensive car, on leather seats, with someone by his side – especially if that someone was his best friend. They didn't drive far – stopped on a little hill just outside the city, far enough not to be spotted by anyone.

They left the car doors open, radio on; Dashiell quickly rolled a perfect joint and light it on, taking the first drag. He passed it over, to Oleander, breathing the smoke out lazily.

"Shit, that's good" Ander admitted the moment he took first hit, enjoyed the way his body lossend a bit. He didn't remember the last time the two of them chilled like that, enjoying the white smoke and perfectly blue sky, not saying anything just standing there passing the joint to one another. It was calm, serene even; the way the world stopped for a moment, no wind nor birds to disturb their peace.

"I just wish he asked" Oleander broke the silence after they ended the first joint. "He never asked if I had someone, or was in love. He didn't even ask if I like women at all, and it's twenty third century, for god's sake, he should be aware not everyone is straight! He just doesn't care and that hurts, y'know?"

He didn't wanna whine, not when finally he was able to take a deep breath and relax, but these thoughts were haunting him and wouldn't let go unless he faced them.

"And are you?" Dashiell asked, taking another joint. "In love with someone who isn't a woman?"

Dashiell knew – of course he knew, he realised before Oleander did – so the question was valid.

But was Oleander in love with someone?

He definitely swinged both ways – the fact he discovered at the age of fifteen, with Dash's help, but he never came out to his family. He was sure mother knew – after all there was a time he talked way too much about how attractive Dashiell was, she must've known something was up, but father? No, there was no way he knew, and even if he did, would it change anything?

He was staring at Dashiell, his blue eyes glassy and pupils dilated, thinking about it. Wanting him was never the problem – after all they knew each other almost their whole lives, they were like a family and he treated him like brother, so thinking about him in sexual context was making him uncomfortable. Yes, he could definitely tell Dashiell was one of the most attractive men he ever saw, they also seen each other naked way too many times to even bother now, but at the end of a day he was still Dashiell, his best friend and brother by choice.

But wanting _Fin_ was never strange.

Because Finley came into his life only four years ago and ever since they met there was this pull, this curiosity Oleander felt and just never decided to act on.

Because Finley was beautiful in every way possible – not only outside, but most importantly on the inside. He was so different than Oleander and Dashiell, not in any way as rebellious, calmer, kinder, more understanding. Around him people just felt comfortable, safe to share their problems and thoughts, willing to just let go of all the masks and be themselves. And that, that amazing possibility to _just be_, was what drawn in Oleander the most.

But was it love?

No, not yet, and if his father had his way, not ever.

"No" he finally answered, taking the drag. "I'm not in love, at least I don't think so."

Dashiell hummed, taking the joint back, and said:

"We're wasting too much, c'mon."

They moved in sync – they did it way too many times not to know by heart when the other's gonna get closer – and when their faces were just few inches away, Dashiell took a long drag, connected their lips with the lightest touch, and breathed the smoke straight into Oleander's mouth.

Ander sucked all the smoke in, savoured the taste of it; yes, his mother might have known he wasn't the straightest man in Illéa, and that he did like to smoke weed from time to time, but she definitely didn't know he shotgunned with Dash almost every time they actually did it. He imagined she wouldn't be happy if she knew, probably worried what people would say if they found out, but it was getting them high quicker, so why not do it?

They ended the second blunt; Oleander felt blissfully relaxed, leaning heavily on the car's hood. He started humming the song played on the radio, his mind somewhere between the hill and small flat Finley lived in.

"You think he has someone?" he asked before he could stop himself. He shouldn't be thinking about this while high, he might say too much and then he'll never hear the end of it.

"Are you seriously asking about other man while we're having a date?" Dashiell perfectly faked indignation, putting a hand on his heart, his eyes big and brows lifted in surprise. "You hurt me. And here I thought we were meant to be!"

He should've started a career in acting or comedy shows – the way he leaned on a hood, all sad and disappointed, frown on his face, and wiping fake tears from his cheeks made Oleander burst with laughter. It was just ridiculous, how they were sitting in a middle of nowhere, smoking weed and somehow, in a middle of talking emotions, they ended here, just laughing at the mere thought of them ever being together.

"Oh, shut up." He elbowed Dashiell, still laughing. "I know exactly what dates with you consists of, I would never date you, I'm not a masochist!"

Dashiell sniggered, hearing that.

"Because you are such a catch, Your Royal Highness" he mocked. "At least I never knocked my date's teeth out while trying to kiss her, unlike some I know."

Oleander gasped loudly.

"No, you did not" he said slowly, still not believing Dashiell decided to bring up that one incident. He wasn't proud of it, but he was only fifteen at the time, reminding it seemed unfair.

But he had just as many embarrassing stories about Dash, and now was the time to use some of them.

"Oh, at least _**I**_ didn't sport a boner in a middle of class just because we were talking about celestial bodies" he reminded, grinning widely. Yes, knocking girls tooth out was embarrassing, and yes, the girl never talked to him again, but at least people moved on from that one relatively fast; Dashiell wasn't so lucky.

Well, he at least wasn't at all upset about this, as he just smiled sweetly.

"You're jealous, just say it. We both know the only big thing about you is your ego."

Once again Oleander burst with laughter; he missed the teasing, the taste of smoke on his tounge and the looseness in his muscles. The day was beautiful, the view from the spot he was standing at gorgeous. He could see the skyscrapers in the distance, sharp lines on mellow blue background, white, rectangular houses with beige roofs not so far from him. Everything seemed brighter, even though his thoughts were clouded; he just wanted to take a piece of paper and a pencil, and immortalize this beautiful view.

He took a deep breath; he was so high already and no way was he stopping at that point.

* * *

Somehow they ended up in one of the most known clubs in LA, with great VIP section and way too many rich kids enjoying their evening. But the music was great, drinks delicious, and Oleander was too drunk to care about anything else.

He was dancing in a middle of a dance floor, with some girl plastered to him; she was wearing a colorful, short dress, with sequins all along it – a little to blinding and obnoxious for Oleander's taste. When they first met, she said her name surprisingly loud so that he could hear above the music, but he already forgot it. She was nice – the one thing that actually catched his attention and stayed in his clouded mind. A pretty face – very delicate and young, heart shaped, with barely visible cheekbones and the most beautiful, symmetrical nose Oleander ever seen. Under any different circumstances he might've asked her to model for him, but the music and the way her hips rolled ever so slightly touching him were too addictive to bother.

Someone put his hands on his hips – without even thinking Oleander leaned into the touch – and smell of familiar cologne reached his nose.

"I'm gonna sit and smoke again" Dashiell said, his breath hot on his ear. "Want some?"

Oleander nodded, not even trying to out-yell the music; he looked at the girl he was dancing with – she faced him, must have felt him move, her big brown eyes a little disappointed he was leaving her now – and smiled to her for the last time.

She was nice. And pretty. He should've asked her to model one day.

He and Dashiell were seated in a small VIP room, with nice, spacious couches, not far enough from the rest of the crowd not to be visible, but far enough not to have anyone trying to catch their attention.

They plopped down heavily, their bodies one big mess, and Dashiell took out the weed. He was just as drunk as Oleander – when he tried to roll the first blunt, he scattered it all over the floor.

But at the fifth or sixth try he managed to make one and lit it.

The only bad news was that they had no more weed to make more.

"We sharin" he muttered before Dash even had a chance to take the first drag; he needed to get high again, wasting any of the joint wasn't an option.

Dashiell agreed with him and without thinking leaned in and breathed all the smoke into Ander's mouth. They spent a good while just smoking, enjoying the quickly kicking in igh, their arms and legs touching.

"The last one" Ander said, putting the blunt in his lips and leaning to Dash. His eyelids fluttered, his body heavy and relaxed like never before; he didn't even move away, just stayed there, his head on Dash's shoulder, breathing in his wonderful cologne.

"God, I'm so high" he said and the moment the words left his lips he started to giggle. "I am so high, Dash."

He couldn't stop laughing – something about it, the fact he was there, in a club, music so loud he could hardly hear anything, just chilling and hardly even in touch with reality, was just hilarious. Dashiell started to laugh a moment after – Oleander could feel it in his body, their chests flush and shaking.

"They're gonna be so pissed" he said, still laughing, first tears running down his face. He felt amazing. Everything was a blur, the whole conversation with father was a blur, he hardly remembered why he was so upset and angry in the first place.

"You bet they are" someone said and Oleander jumped, startled.

Saffron was standing there, looking at their mingled limbs, irritation visible in her eyes.

"I'm taking you home, I have someone to drive Dashiell too."

He didn't understand. He wanted to stay, lay on this couch for a little while longer. _Why was Saffron always ruining all the fun?_

"'m not goin" he said, all the words slurred together. Fingers clenched around his arm.

"Yes, you are" Saffron said and got him on his feet. "You made a mess already, I'm not letting you two stay here, people have enough photos as it is."

Nothing made sense. Photos? People? He was having a photoshoot in two days, he still had time, why else would anyone take his photos?

His confusion must've been all over his face, because Saffron only rolled her eyes.

"God, you're so high." And with that, she lead him out.

* * *

**Did I plan to post it two weeks ago? Yes. Did I plan it to be this long and look like that? No. But here is my second baby, Oleander, hope you like him. In the next chapter you gonna meet my last child – Ophelia, so stay tuned.**

**I will try to post every two or three weeks, I need some time to write and check every chapter since it is my first story written in english ever.**

**If you still wanna submit, or if you wanna change some part of your form, just write to me!**

**Hope everyone had amazing Christmas (or, if you don't celebrate it, just great break), and I wish you all happy New Year!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Deck of Gulfstream G550, somewhere in Illéa**  
**Princess Ophelia of Illéa**

Her lipstick wasn't perfect enough.

Ophelia could clearly see a little unevenness at the edge of her upper lip on the left side – she was right handed, it was always much harder to make the left side as perfect as the right one. It irritated her to no end – how every damn time she did her lips, she had to spend five extra minutes making sure both sides were symmetrical and had no imperfections.

But today, being perfect was even more important than usual. She was coming back to Illéa after her trip to Europe, she needed to look absolutely flawless when she'll get out of her private jet, so every single photo paparazzi will definitely take of her will be just as stunning as she was. She needed to make sure everyone saw how fresh and relaxed she was after her vacation; after all, she had so much fun, meeting the fashion community in Paris, she wanted people to notice that. The whole country was gonna watch their beloved princess come back home, among them hundreds of thousands young girls that look up to her; there was no place for imperfections.

People loved her for her looks and incredible fashion sense, she needed to remind them why they fell in love with her in the first place.

She put her lip brush down, snorting – she was furious, the more she tried, the worse her lipstick was looking. If there were some makeup gods out there, they definitely had fun watching her struggle putting on the product (in the perfect shade of red, dark and intense, like fresh blood and wine mixed together) and failing spectacularly.

(Red lips were iconic and she was the icon of this country's fashion – she **had** to make it work.)

"Your Royal Highness, we're landing in five minutes" said one of her assistants, whose name Ophelia couldn't remember, smiling gently at her. Ophelia rolled her eyes – not only she had just five minutes to fix the mess she made on her lips, but also make sure the flowers embroidered on her champagne gold dress were shining just right in the daylight.

(It was custom made just for her, by one of the best french designers whom she raptured with her beauty and grace.)

She huffed, made one last stroke with her lipstick brush, and put the makeup back in her bag – in the same colour as her dress, on a thin metallic chain, classy and sexy as she herself stated.

Maybe she was overdressed for the occasion (she definitely was, the short gold dress with long sleeves and open back she was wearing, the flowers decorated in little crystals shining brightly in the sun, was _soo_ not casual and _soo_ overkill for such a simple event as coming back home; as if the private jet wasn't enough to show everyone just as much of a princess she was and just how much money she had), but she loved how feminine she looked in that outfit, how it hugged her every curve. It was perfect – she could already see the headlines, all the gossip magazines talking about _another luxury dress Her Royal Highness Princess Ophelia wore and why we love it so much._

She was everyone's fantasy, she had a reputation to uphold.

She looked into a huge mirror installed on the side of the cabin – her blonde hair was down, flowing over her collarbones in gentle waves. The blonde was the most recognizable characteristic of the Royal Family – they were all blonde, been blonde for generations now (so it only made Saffron stand out that much more, with her dark skin and dark brown, almost black hair. She looked nothing like father, with her exotic beauty, and somehow people still believed she was his daughter, even more so than Ophelia and Oleander themselves.

It sucked because no matter how hard they tried, they were never smart enough. Never had that piercing stare Saffron used so often without realising it, the same one father possessed, nor the cold calmness even in the most extreme situations.

And just like that Ophelia realised in a moment she was about to see her step sister again; she couldn't help but roll her eyes again.

She and Saffron were never too close.)

The plane landed – after excruciating eleven hours it felt good to finally be on the ground – and Ophelia packed the rest of her things into her bag. She was ready to go out and face camera lenses.

The moment the doors opened, Ophelia noticed the only people waiting for her were the bodyguards.

She had to hide her disappointment (wasn't she important enough for someone form her family, anyone really, come to greet her?) and smiled charmingly as if nothing was amiss.

Her smile turned real the moment she saw who was amongst the group of men dressed in black.

Declan Roth – or rather lieutenant Declan Roth, because that was his title if Ophelia remembered correctly – was definitely one of her favourite guards working in the palace.

He had that insane body Ophelia could spend hours upon hours looking at – and she did saw him without a shirt several times, not that anyone knew about that. It was her little secret, looking at him when no one was watching. He was not only ripped – _those arms, that chest, just kill me already!_ – he also had something in the way he smiled, in the way he looked at people; something that screamed "just lets go somewhere else and handle that sexual tension like the adults we both are".

Oh, she wouldn't mind at all, getting some of that body for herself.

She smiled sweetly and walked down stairs – her dress was way too tight for that to not go up high, showing indecent amounts of her milky skin. The protocol might've prevented her from wearing revealing clothes but she still worked around it and found ways to show as much as she could without breaking it – and _god, did she love to show some skin._

She fixed her dress, not missing the long look one of the guards gave her while she covered her slim thighs, and flipped her her.

_Oh, how she loved the attention!_

The guard that checked her out so openly were a new one – or at least Ophelia had never seen him before, and she had quite a face memory. He was young, not older than twenty five, average looking, with dark blond hair, face a little too round for her taste, and barely visible cheekbones; he was not her type, not even the slightest, but she smiled at him all the same.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen, how was your day?" she asked, just to be polite. She knew how to make a good impression, her mother also never stopped repeating how important being polite was, but at the end of the day Ophelia didn't care. All these men were here because they were paid to do so, they would still work with her even if she didn't ask them about their day.

Roth answered her; no surprise, he worked with the Royal Family for a while now, he knew how to handle this kind of situation.

"Your Royal Highness, we hope you had a pleasant journey." Always a gentleman, smiling politely. "Your limousine is waiting, we're ready when you are."

She was ready to head home, she just wished she had a moment to pose for the paparazzi to show her beautiful dress to the world.

She smiled instead of saying that, and slowly approached Declan. She enjoyed the sound her heels were making with every step and how her dress made her appear so much more feminine, showing her curves perfectly while she moved.

"Oh, Declan, always so serious" she singsonged. _Let's get this party started!_ "I kinda missed it, to be honest, it's been a while since I saw you."

She could see on the edge of her vision how confused one of the guards was but she decided to ignore him – let him watch, he was gonna see this many more times in the future.

"You have a new suit" she said; she wasn't lying, her favourite guard was wearing a new suit and _damn_, did he look good in it. Simple, all black with white shirt; classy. She licked her lips and put a hand on his chest. "I love it, you look stronger than ever."

The touches, the looks – it was against the protocol and Ophelia was living for it. Breaking all the rules that came with her title – yes, she loved it, even though her family made sure no one outside the palace knew.

Declan just took a step back – subtle enough not to upset her but firm enough to draw a strict line between them. _Ouch, he was always ruining all the fun!_ Ophelia couldn't hide her disappointment – ever since she found out what sex was and how it felt like, she was trying to seduce Declan, to no avail. The man seemed unbothered by her tries, as if her smiles and flirting did nothing to him.

(He was never this closed around Saffron, she thought bitterly and her mood momentarily dropped.)

"Let's just get inside" she said, flipping her long hair back with as much grace as only a true princess could posses. "It's too hot in here and I'm tired."

She could practically hear Declan rolling his eyes – _how dare he, she was the princess in here, rolling her eyes was **her** job_ – but he just followed her to the black limousine waiting just a few steps away. They came here to get her and make sure she came back home safe and sound; preferably do it without getting any attention from paparazzi – or at least not entering into any sort of conversation with them.

Shame. Ophelia had so much to talk about after the month of travelling and seeing the world of upper class all around France.

She felt ignored – the way everyone was sitting still, not saying a word, even her usually bubbly assistant. Ophelia looked at the screen of her phone – no new messages, her friends were still not trying to get her to come to some sort of a party.

Strange. They must've known she was coming back today.

Good thing the ride home was short, otherwise she would die from boredom. How come everyone was interested in everything except her? What the hell happened while she was away that no one cared about her cool trip? Come on, she met the best designers in the world! _In the world!_ Everyone should care.

From the outside the palace looked exactly the same as it looked a month ago, when she'd gone away to France. The guards were still everywhere, making sure The Royal Family was safe and sound and no unexpected guests entered the palace grounds. The walls were the same colour as they've been earlier, no surprise here (although Ophelia hoped they would refresh the colour again, it was getting a little dirty and wasn't even half as white as it should).

A perfectly normal day, so why no one came to greet her? Didn't they care? Was she irrelevant already? Probably Saffron made them stay, she was a snake, definitely her fault!

Ophelia was livid. Her whole body was tingling, thoughts racing.

The only person in the lobby was some maid, too interested in cleaning the window to even notice her.

_How dare she?_

"What is happening?" she demanded, approaching the girl. Her voice, from silky sweet, became cold as ice and she clenched her fists. "Where is everyone?"

The maid curtsied quickly.

"Your Royal Highness, your family…"

"Where are they?!"

"Ophelia."

Ophelia stopped in her tracks, completely caught off guard by the soothing, familiar voice. She turned slowly and smiled when she saw her mother.

"Mama!"

She jumped to her, her anger long gone, and hugged her firmly.

"Where were you, guys, I really hoped you'd come to meet me at the airport." There was a note of disappointment in her voice, and it was too late to try to hide it; mother couldn't be fooled anyway, not when it came to her kids, she just knew them too well.

"Well, your father, Oleander and Saffron are in the middle of a meeting, sorry we couldn't be there, sweetie."

Meeting? What could be so important that they couldn't delay it those two hours max?

"I see" Ophelia answered, and smiled once again. "Well, I have so many things to tell you! Paris is incredible, and the people! Oh, I wish I could go back there already!"

But mother didn't smile back, didn't even engage in the conversation; she was just looking at her daughter with the same, delicate smile.

"I'm sure you do, Phelia, but your stories will have to wait. There's something important coming up and we need you to know the plans for the next few weeks."

First a meeting, now this? Did she miss an engagement or something? It just didn't make sense.

She was supposed to be the today's big news, not anything else!

Ophelia sighed, already annoyed. Her perfect day was slowly turning out like her lipstick – not perfect enough, crooked on one side, hiding behind the beautiful colour, mask of luxury clothes and shimmering jewelry, but still imperfect none the same.

She followed her mother though, because what else could she do? Her day was already ruined, she could at least know what exactly ruined it, something of such importance it occupied the minds of the rest of her family.

They came into one of the conference rooms – several people were leaving, some of them Ophelia recognized as the politicians and father's advisors. Weird. No one ever cared to share political decisions with her, the crown wasn't her business, she was supposed to only look pretty, appear on some major events, marry a foreign royal at one point and engage in charity actions from time to time. The rest – it didn't involve her, at least not in her own mind.

She must've missed an engagement, what else could it be?

(She tried not to feel _too happy_ at the thought of getting rid of Saffron.)

"Phelia, you're back."

First one at her side was Oleander, of course. He hugged her gently, just as he always did, and grinned at her; he used to smile just like that every time he unpacked his presents during Christmas. Ophelia's heart melted a little at the sight.

"Ander, I missed you."

She did miss him, even if she realised it just now; they were twins, they spent their whole lives together, she wasn't used to being away from him for that long. They were best friends, once upon a time, they still understood each other perfectly (and _no_, Saffron could never understand him the way Ophelia could.)

They were _OleanderandOphelia_, they were a package deal.

"I wished you were here this whole time" Oleander whispered and stepped back, to make enough space for dad to join them.

Ophelia flinched, like she always did whenever she forgot father couldn't see anymore and saw his emotionless, almost dead eyes. She hugged him all the same, part of her happy he couldn't see her expression when she looked at him (they might've never been too close, but she still didn't want to hurt him, especially because of _that_).

"How is my princess doing? Had fun with all that fashion designers you so wanted to meet?"

The question was basic, the one she wanted to hear the moment she stepped out of the plane, but hearing it from father's mouth just felt… strange. A little too staged, if she was honest.

But Ophelia craved attention more than she craved oxygen, so she answered with all the enthusiasm she could muster.

"Yes, I did! I've met so many incredible artists, you wouldn't believe how creative they are! And the people are so different there than in Illéa, they all dress so nice. I must say, I wasn't expecting to have so much fun. The people absolutely adored me, I must've met everyone important there! And the dresses, oh, don't even get me started! I have some, custom made, of course…"

She stopped the moment she felt father's hand on her shoulder.

"I'm glad you had fun, Phelia" he said, his calmness weirdly irritating. He didn't even let her finish, _how rude!_ Why he even bothered to ask if he didn't want to know the answer?

"I don't know how much Vivian told you on your way here" he started again, and moved to the closest chair; only then Ophelia noticed black labrador sitting just there, waiting patiently for his master "but your brother is having a Selection."

Ophelia froze.

_A Selection?_

_Oleander?_

This must've been some sort of a dream (or a nightmare, rather; Saffron was here, so it classified as a nightmare), because there was no way in hell Oleander would ever agree to this. Wasn't he always the first one to say how stupid the Selection was and how he hated the whole concept? Wasn't he always the only one from the two (Saffron didn't count, Selection was never an option for her) of them to state how only true love would ever induce him to marriage? And that the moment he was crowned, he would end the tradition of holding Selection, just to give his descendants the chance to find love on their own terms?

Was this all some stupid joke? If yes, then it wasn't funny.

"No" she said, still too confused to come up with a better answer. "No, it can't… Ander… I mean… what?"

She never struggled to find the right words this much. She always knew what to say (or rather never got a problem with making an answer on spot, whether it was a good thing to say or not), but right now she felt as if someone hit her with a hammer on the head.

Nope. Whoever thought the Selection was a good idea, it was not happening.

"Your brother and I decided it's time to have a Selection" father repeated, calm as always. "Everyone was expecting it to happen last year, it's high time we approach the subject. Given the fact Oleander is twenty one, and I would expect him to marry before turning twenty five, it gives us enough time to find the perfect candidates for the position and train them properly. It wouldn't be wise to prolong the Selection too much, but still Oleander will have more than enough time to properly get to know the girls and find the one he feels connection to."

Ophelia just stood there, speechless. Married by twenty five? Then what was planned for her? Some perfectly nice candidates for a big, royal wedding, just waiting to be introduced?

"What about mom?" she asked, her confusion turning into anger. "Did you have enough time to find a perfect wife? Because that worked just perfectly for you!"

"Ophelia."

It was a warning. A plea not to go deeper, but she ignored it, just like she ignored everything whenever she felt angry.

"You ditched mom for some bitch, and what? You expect people to jump with happiness when they hear Ander is having Selection? They'll be livid and rightly so!"

How could he even think it was a good idea? After what he did to mom? After taking Saffron in, as if she was their family, and making Ophelia act as if they were sisters? _Oh no_, she was not having that. Not when Oleander didn't seem taken by the idea, not when another disaster was just waiting to happen, not when father clearly didn't care what the rest of them thought.

"It's stupid! You expect me to welcome thirty five strangers at my home and pretend I'm their friend? And what then? Pretend I'm their sister, just like you made me with Saffron? It's bullshit, you're bullshit!"

She didn't realise she took anything into her hands until she smacked some book down onto the table, with all her power. Loud smack echoed around the room, someone grasped her by her wrist and father stood up.

"That's enough, Ophelia!"

He never screamed. Or did it so rarely it only gave his words more power now that he did.

"We _**are** _having a Selection and you _**will** _appear on the report in week's time for the announcement. If someone asks, you **_will_ **say you're happy for your brother and you can't wait to meet the girls. Do you understand?"

She looked at him in silence, her heart beating way too fast.

_"Do you understand, Ophelia?"_

Father's voice was cold as ice and she could feels the temperature in the room falling.

"Yes" she said quietly. "I understand."

Father sat again, the tension in his shoulder blades disappearing.

"You may go now" he said simply, no reminiscent of his previous anger in his tone. He was a temple of calmness once again.

Ophelia snached her wrist from Oleander's grip and walked out of the room.

_She lost it._ Once again she lost it and she promised she would never lose it again.

_Her promises were worth shit, that's what they were._

Someone followed her (she had to close her eyes and pray it wasn't Saffron, because she would lose it again if she heard her irritating, know-it-all voice).

"Phelia, wait!"

She turned around and smiled slightly at Oleander. Her head started to ache, just like it always did after she had one of her outbursts, but the presence of her brother was just as calming as the best coffee with double whipped cream she ordered so often.

"I'm really happy you're back" he said, taking a lock of her blonde hair and tucking it behind her ear. "I would love to see all these dresses you talked about, I'm sure they're even more magical than on the photos."

The smile that appeared on her face was genuine this time; that's why she loved Oleander so much, he always knew how to lift her mood.

Besides, if there was one other person in the family that had perfect taste, it was Oleander, so he would definitely help her decide when to wear each dress; having his input would be great.

She laughed out loud, her eyes glowing from happiness.

"Oh, you'll love them" she said while she took his hand in hers and lead him to her room.

* * *

**Did I plan to post every two or three weeks? Well, I guess I'm really bad at sticking to my own plans, sorry.**

**I've rewritten this chapter way too many times, don't know why, but I guess that's Ophelia's charm. As you see, she's different, and I'm both excited and terrified to write her. What do you think about her? Did you expect her to be this spoiled brat? I'm really curious what you think about her!**

**Next chapter I'm finally introducing the girls (yayyy!), so from now on the chapters will get longer, hope you don't mind. Also, if you reserved a spot for your girl, please check your pm's (either on or discord, depends where you reached me), I have a message for you!**

**That's it for today, hope you have a nice week!**


	5. Chapter 4

**INS TV studios, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Oleander of Illéa**

Oleander was nervous – in a moment he would be on air, whole Illéa watching, proudly announcing he was having a Selection.

Or that's what his father wanted. For him to be proud.

But even when Oleander tried, he couldn't feel anything else than disappointment and resent.

He knew he made the whole situation much worse after his little outing with Dash, but the fact that it was only a week and he was already announcing the Selection was unexpected and terrifying.

Maybe if not for those photos, he could buy himself some more time.

_How stupid and drunk was he to ever think shotgunning in public was a good idea?_

"You look very handsome, darling, no need to be nervous."

Oleander turned his head sharply and here she was: standing in all her glory, Faye Bradshaw. Her dark hair was loose, thick locks flowing onto her bare shoulders in waves. Every time Oleander saw her, he was starstruck by her beauty: her olive skin always had that natural, healthy shine to it, her dark eyes were the perfect shape of almond, big and expressive, her plump lips in dark shade of pink were made to be immortalized on paintings. She was perfect, as cheesy as it sounded – and INS TV knew that very well, putting her on the most popular show to make sure every citizen watched the news, even if they disagreed with every decision the Royal Family made.

"Faye."

Oleander stepped closer and hugged her dearly – they knew each other well enough for such proximity to go unnoticed by the rest of the crew. Just like him, Faye was a part of higher class, the very own Angeles elite, and even though she was three years older, she still spend a lot of time around Ander during her teen years.

"So nice to see you. You look ravishing."

It was true. Faye was wearing a long, spaghetti strap dress in the most gorgeous shade of green – the one that surrounded you in a forest in a middle of a summer, rich and dark, and just bringing back the memories of the freshest wind to mind. Made from silk, it shined beautifully in dark lights.

Faye smiled, showing her perfectly white teeth.

"You're cute, thank you! Usually I wouldn't wear it here, but since it's a very special announcement you have, I decided to choose something more elegant."

Special announcement. _Just kill me already._

Oleander smiled.

"Yes, that… Well, I'm sure no matter what I say, you'll steal the show anyway, as always."

Faye just laughed quietly.

"Oh no, the country's gonna go wild the moment they hear it, especially after the photos. Or are we all wrong, and you and Sullivan are actually an item and the whole Selection thing is just a distraction?"

That question was exactly what Oleander wanted to avoid. He didn't need to bring any more attention to his last week's escapade, he and Dashiell already had way too many young girls reposting blurry photos of them kissing surrounded by white smoke.

Good thing lights in the club were dark, so it wasn't possible to know for sure it was Oleander on the photos; the Crown was able to dodge the questions saying it was all a mistake, a gossip made by some drunk teenagers who thought they saw the Crown Prince, but actually mistaken someone else for him.

"We're not an item" Oleander said, as calmly as he could. "And the photos are fake, didn't you hear?"

Faye knew Dashiell and him well enough to not be fooled by that lie; it was clear from her expression she didn't believe any of the words, probably her own theory forming in her mind.

At least she wasn't mean nor suicidal enough to share her theories with the world.

"Five minutes!" someone shouted, and the room buzzed.

"I got to go now" Faye said "but I'll see you in a sec."

Oleander was left alone, but not for long – one of the makeup artist caught him and put last bits of powder on his face. He hated that part of tv shows and photoshoots – all the powder they had to put on his face just to make sure he looked perfect on screen, not to shiny but at the same time still not too flat.

"Okay, stand here, please, Your Royal Highness." One of the executives approached him and took him on stage, the rest of the Royal Family already there. Most of the lights were off, the people present on set just a bunch of dark figures with no features. Oleander had to shut his mouth, otherwise he would murmur to Phelia how he hoped the studio stayed that dark till the end of the news; because as much as he loved his twin, she wouldn't understand. Not with all the love she had for media and seeing her own face on screen.

"We're airing in three… two… one!"

The lights went on again, the camera crew still standing in the shadows.

"Good evening, Illéa, it's 7pm, friday, march 27. I'm David Sinclair, here with me is Faye Bradshaw, and this is the Report."

David Sinclair was one of the best tv presenters in whole Illéa – people loved his smooth voice and handsome face, his sense of humor and the natural flow whenever he had guests on the show. He and Faye had the perfect chemistry, despite the age gap, and were definitely the best duo INS TV ever hired.

Reginald was the first one invited on stage – he often appeared on the Report, a lot less after the accident. He liked to announce all the important events and changes to the country himself, that's what differed him from his ancestors and what made many people love him.

But as interesting as the segments of his father always were, Oleander couldn't bring himself to focus. His mind was on the Selection, on the announcement his father and his assistant wrote for him earlier this week. He forgot half of it already and his palms started to sweat.

Oh, why the hell did he agree to announce it in person, instead of just putting it in the papers?

Yeah, right. Father insisted.

He didn't realise how much time passed until someone touched his arm gently and he raised his head a little too sharply.

Faye and David were looking at him now, probably just announced his presence, and were waiting for him to join them at the table. He did, reminding himself to smile his million dollars worth smile.

"Faye, David" he started the moment he joined them "thank you for having me."

"It is an honor to have you here, Your Royal Highness" replied Faye, her honest smile a little calming. She was perfect for the job, with her honesty, positive energy and just a knowledge how to work with people.

She was as charming as a tv presenter was supposed to be.

"A little birdie told me you have some announcement for us, is that true?"

He smiled again, wide and bright, just to make sure people couldn't see his hesitance.

"Indeed, I do" he agreed, just as he was supposed to do. He tried to remember his speech, the words blurry in his mind. "I'm having a Selection."

It sounded harsh, the way he said it. He looked into the camera lense, the background pitch black, and imagined the most beautiful, breathtaking view in front of him: lively green grass, beautiful, clear sky in the most charming, royal blue shade he ever saw, the field around him empty, only the sound of birds' song as his companion.

He smiled, this time a little more honest and much more charming.

"It is an old tradition for Illéan Royal Family to choose the heir's companion from among its people. I feel beyond grateful to have this opportunity to find a love of my life, and am excited to meet thirty five charming young ladies." It still sounded empty to his own ears, but he was good enough actor for the rest of the world to believe him. "The forms were already send to each eligible lady in ages between eighteen and twenty four, and should be returned in local Province Services Offices due April 10th. The Selected will be announced during the Report on friday, April 24th. I encourage every young lady to apply, I will be honored to have each and every one of you in my Selection."

The moment he ended, he felt tired.

It was done. He would have a Selection in a month, and there was nothing he could do now.

Faye was looking at him with a way too bright smile on her face.

"That is exciting, indeed!" she said, her voice a little too pitched. "I am sure the ladies will be delighted to apply. Is there something you look for in your future wife?"

He knew the question was coming, but he didn't have any answer that didn't sound curt. So, just like always, he decided to improvise and put his full charm on.

He smiled at Faye, maybe too seductively for his parents' taste, and said:

"Well, as a passionate individual myself, I am drawn to people who can feel just as strongly about something. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about, Faye." He winked at her and she laughed. " Music and painting are two of my biggest passions, and thanks to my charming sister, Ophelia, I do know a thing or two about fashion. Wouldn't it be great to have one of the girls sharing those passions?"

Faye just nodded, but David clearly had more questions. He was gorgeous, yes, but at the moment Oleander just wanted to ruin this pretty mouth of his and get out. Right now.

"Aren't you afraid some of the girls might fake love for art, just to please you?" he asked. Valid question. Not that it mattered to Ander at the moment. He just wanted to leave.

"I do feel no matter how good of an actor you are, there's no way to fake a passion as strong as mine. I hope no one will try, but if they do – better know it's not easy to fool me, and the one thing I'm not looking for in a future partner is dishonesty."

"Beautifully said, Your Royal Highness." David wasn't impressed, but still managed to smile and not in all the right places. "Thank you for joining us again."

Oleander left them and sat next to his family again. He did it. He announced the Selection. He was going to meet thirty five girls in a month's time and marry one of them not long after.

How the hell was he supposed to do that?

He wanted the crown, wanted to become king one day, but if he had to pay for it in living in a loveless marriage, than maybe he should consider just passing it to Saffron.

"You did great" Phelia said, smiling to him brightly. He signed. He well hoped he did, otherwise the country would be outraged, and the protests were the last thing his family needed right now.

* * *

**Abandoned building, Bargot quarter, St. Olivier, Likely  
Alexandra Louise Gibson, Two**

Alexa loved walking around Bargot quarter: the sketchiest quarter of all, inhabited by the poorest people, mostly Sixes and Seven, also a safe haven for all the Eights. For her, a person who grew up in one of the nicest districts in the whole city, seeing the poorer places was a never ending adventure. Everyone warned her the people in Bargot were savages, that they would rob her the moment they saw her, but like, her curiosity was always stronger than instinct of self-preservation. Her parents didn't know – if they knew, Alexa wouldn't hear the end of it, especially from her mother – and the only people that realised what "going for a walk" meant in Alexa's dictionary were her best friends forever: James and Minnie. James would never talk her out of it and Minnie lived in Bargot quarter, so. Not exactly in a position to dissuade her.

The place she chose for today was one of her favourites: an abandoned building, with half of its walls demolished, just in a good enough state to climb it without worrying it'll fall on her head, and at the same time ruined enough to scare off any homeless people and thugs.

Or, at least she hoped so, like. She didn't know for sure she was safe there.

"Why would you ever want me to meet you here, Gibs?" a familiar voice asked and Alexa turned, grinning widely. James was standing just few feets away from her, his hazel eyes looking around distrustful.

Alexa laughed, her eyes crinkling beautifully, and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"We both know you don't mind it, Jimmy, you love me too much."

She turned around, took the first step onto the rubble covering the ground all around the building, and with the same, satisfied smile started climbing the crumbling wall.

"You've got to be kidding me" she heard James huff, his voice full of disbelieve. "There's no way I'm climbing that wall, and you very well know it!"

Alexa laughed again, reaching to another rift and and grabbing it firmly. The art of climbing was something she perfected over the years – her body knew exactly what kinds of surfaces to grab, how to do it, how to use her legs to make sure she was supported and in no danger of falling. (When she first started climbing, she fell off way too many times, so. She was determined to never let it happen again.)

She climbed higher, inch by inch, until she reached one of the windows on first floor, just the frame, no glass in it. She propped herself on it, turned around just enough to see James still standing and looking at her, fear in his eyes.

"The stairs are in the back, see you on third floor!"

She didn't wait for him to respond, knowing way to well James's going to come after her anyway, just like he always did. She knew him way too well to be fooled by the frown on his face, like. No matter how many times he asked her to be careful, trying to be her voice of reason, she still did what she wanted.

She was just stubborn like that.

Climbing was like a second nature to her now: the only thing she could do to take her mind off her mother's neverending complaints. Like now. After all the hard work she did during photoshoot, playing the perfect model her mother wanted her to be so bad, but still being way too plain in her eyes, like. She needed a break, and a long one.

She stood on the concrete floor, her cheeks pink and breath fast from exercise. James was coming her way, taking every step with great care, clearly not trusting the old building to hold his weight.

"C'mon" she said cheerly, "let's climb a little higher, the view's great from there!"

She just took James by his hand and dragged him to the stairs again. He cursed under his breath, not quiet enough for her not to hear, and like. Rude.

"See?" she asked, gesturing towards one of the ruined walls, the bricks only few inches high. She walked there confidently and sat on the edge. "I like to sit here, y'know. It's beautiful."

She heard Jim coming closer and watched him sit next to her by the corner of her eye.

"She said something again, didn't she?"

Alexa sighed and closed her eyes, legs dangling from the wall.

James knew her way to well, so. There's no point in lying.

"Yup, she did. Something 'bout how I need to work harder and focus, 'coz I look like a dead fish. Like, I know I'm not perfect, kay, I just wish she said something nice in change."

She felt James move again, felt his hand on her shoulder, just the gentlest of touches.

"You shouldn't listen to her" he said. "She's just salty because she was never this good when she was modeling."

Alexa laughed, surprise visible in her voice. It was such a James' thing to say, and she had to admit it made the weight on her lungs a little lighter.

"Well" she started, turning her face to look into these hazel eyes. "I guess she'll have even more reason to be jealous since I'm gonna apply for the Selection. And like. Who wouldn't want me there?"

James was looking at her, dumbfounded. Alexa tried not to move too much, her uncomfort making her all twitchy.

"What?" she asked, just to break the silence.

"Nothing." Jim was still looking at her with this strange look in his eyes. "I imagined you'd be many things at nineteen but married was never one of them."

Oh. That kinda made sense.

"Who said I'm gonna get married?" she asked, looking at the beautiful landscape in front of her.

"Why else would you do it?"

Alexa sighed once again. The Selection was supposed to be about love, everyone knew it, but how many people were actually willing to just marry a man they never met? She couldn't be the only one wanting a place in the palace just to get away from her life for a while. Like, she couldn't be.

"I just" she started, shrugging without even realising it. "I just wanna get away for awhile, y'know? Do something fun, without my parents controlling me."

They stayed silent after that, but even when they parted, after staring into nothingness for an hour too long, Alexa could still feel Jim's gaze on her.

But he had no right to judge her, so. She pretended she didn't care.

* * *

**Piano room, Montgomery Music Academy, Montgomery, Allens  
Johanna Celia Moremont, Three**

Hanna was sitting at the piano stool, her fingers touching the keys lightly. She was thinking about what to play, no song she learned in last months coming to her mind.

"Are you going to play something already?" asked Claire, the baby in her arms looking at Hanna with those big blue eyes. "Joff wants to hear his auntie play."

Johanna smiled, her fingers finally finding the right keys. She loved the little moments she shared with Claire, especially because since she gave birth, she was always busy with taking care of Joff, her little treasure. Having her here, in the room Hanna spent so much time in throughout the years, meant everything, even if she didn't show it. She wanted to play something special, something that would express how much she loved her dearest friend much clearer than words ever could, something she always struggled with.

So she played, the music calming and delicate, rhythm slow, deliciously so. Playing was almost like a second nature to her right now: she didn't have to think, her hands knew exactly what to do and how to do it, the music coming from the instrument in a steady wave.

Only, no matter what she did and how hard she tried, there was still something missing. A soul, maybe.

The last note vibrated through the room, a little nostalgic and maybe too sad for a moment as joyous as this. But Claire clapped – how she managed to do it with Joff still in her arms was a mystery to Hanna – and smiled brightly.

"Oh, how beautiful! Did you hear it, Joffy? Isn't your auntie just the most talented woman on earth?"

She was way too cute, looking at her son with the brightest smile on her face. Hanna was so happy for her – Claire's marriage was perfect, she had the most beautiful child ever, and throughout all the years they knew each other, Johanna never seen her as content with her life and glowing from happiness as now.

"What was it, Jojo? I need to play it to Henric, such a beautiful tune!"

Hanna smiled again – something that only happened this much around her best friend – and tried not to feel too proud with herself.

"I wrote it" she said and fixed her hair. "I'm still working on it, but wanted to play it to you. I wrote the first draft after I saw you and Joff for the first time in hospital. Never seen you that happy."

Johanna could see it before it happened – the tears in Claire's eyes, the upcoming wave of _thank you's_ and _sorry's_.

"Jojo!" Claire sat beside her on a narrow piano stool, Joff in her arms blinking slowly, clearly at the edge of sleep. "This is so beautiful, you shouldn't have! I love it so much, I…"

She gave Claire time, as always when she got emotional. She knew her friend teared easily, was always keen to showing her emotions, unlike Johanna. Maybe that's why they were friends, in the first place; because being around Claire always made showing emotions seem like a good thing.

"I know we weren't close these last years, and I'm so sorry! I never intended to leave you behind, but I never thought marriage would be so much work. I need you to know you are a part of my family and I will always, always care about you!"

Uh-oh. It was getting way more emotional than Johanna anticipated.

"I could play you something too, but I'm afraid your ears wouldn't survive it" added Claire, grinning; the tension disappeared.

Johanna snorted.

"Well, I can't deny that" she said, not strong enough to resist it. "You _are _an awful musician and your singing sounds like a dying chicken."

"Hey!"

Hanna laughed, the indignation on Claire's face hilarious.

"You were supposed to tell me I'm a great musician, I thought we were friends!"

It felt great, having Claire around again, just like the old times. It wasn't the same, of course it wasn't, but still nice.

"Well" started Claire, her eyes down, looking at Joff. "I really happy with him, you know? I hope you find someone like that for yourself. And…"

Whatever it was Claire wanted to say probably wasn't something Johanna wanted to hear. But Claire was her friend and Hanna was way too curious not to hear it.

"Aaand?" she asked, her brows raised.

"Were you thinking about applying for Prince Oleander's Selection?" asked Claire and now her hesitation was understandable.

The Selection? _Really?_

"Why would I?" she asked, a little confused as to why she should be interested to take part in this masquerade. "I mean, we all know how the last Selection ended, not to mention the photos whole Illéa is talking about, the ones with him and some other guy."

Everyone heard about it, that Crown Prince was seen in one of Los Angeles clubs, smoking and kissing with that friend of his, the one from the rich kids club, with too much money and not enough brain to use it properly. The Royal Family might have said it was all fake, but how big was a possibility of another guy looking almost like Crown Prince appearing in one of the most expensive clubs in the whole country, kissing with another guy? It sounded impossible, so Johanna definitely still believed the Crown Prince liked boys.

"They said it's fake" opposed Claire. "And even if it's true, don't you think it would be nice to get to know some new people? You wouldn't have to think about med school anymore."

She had a point. But as much as Johanna would love to forget about her endless dilemma whether to continue her family's tradition and become a doctor or choose her own dreams and go into music, she wasn't keen on getting into the show that was supposed to be about love, but actually was about finding the perfect queen, pretending every girl in the country had a chance to become one.

"Just think about it, okay? I just hate to see you all miserable and alone."

Johanna nodded, her hands resting on keys again. She could understand Claire's logic, but as much as she understood it, she didn't agree with it even the slightest.

* * *

**Tatiana's Cafe, Yellowknife, St. George  
Antonella Vela, Three**

"This is so exciting!"

Annie was sitting in one of her favourite coffee shops in Yellowknife, just five minutes walk away from her office. Juliette was sitting with her, her coffee untouched, smiling widely, excitement visible in her every move.

"I can't believe Prince Oleander is having a Selection, oh my gosh!"

The Selection was the only thing Julie talked about the moment they met today. As much as Annie loved her, she wasn't sure if she was ready to spend another hour or two hearing the same thing again and again.

But she was too kind to ever tell her that.

"Are you going to appy?" she asked instead, honestly curious if her friend planned on applying, after all the talk today. Juliette wasn't the bravest of all people and just like Annie, sometimes she was to shy to actually act on her feelings.

"I don't know" she said, just as Annie predicted. "I want to, very much, but… that just so stressful! What should I write in my form? What should I wear to the Province Services Office? What if they disqualify me because they find me inadequate?"

Annie understood her doubts, the whole application process seemed like a way too big a thing for such an event and was a little overwhelming. Antonella thought about it herself – she watched the Report that day, heard every single world Crown Prince said, and the next morning found the letter form the Royal Court with the form in it.

She looked at all the questions there, not sure whether she should fill it or not. It was tempting: just to fill in all the informations, return it to the Province Services Office, than watch the Crown Prince announce her name during the Report. Everything just an entry to a new chapter in her life, the one in which she becomes a queen, loved by many, and leaving her mark in history.

Tempting, indeed, but looking at Juliette and her excitement, Annie wished she was the one chosen.

"You should do it" she said calmly, taking her friend's hand in hers. "You're a wonderful young woman, beautiful inside and out. You're passionate and hard working, and have the sweetest disposition from all people I know. Crown Prince will fall for you the moment he sees you."

Juliette still looked unsure; a sad view, usually she was all bubbly and energetic. A little ray of sunshine, that's what she reminded of Annie.

Antonella wanted her to smile and be excited again; wanted her to feel brave enough to try and make her dream come true.

"What if we apply together?" she asked, her voice gentle. "Will you do it then?"

For a moment Juliette stayed silent – and Annie feared she didn't like the idea, that she didn't want more competition – but then she smiled brightly, her usual positivity back.

"Would you?" she asked, grinning widely. "Oh, I have my form with me, do you have yours? We should fill them together, we can go to your flat now! Oh, and to the Province Services Office, you think being first ones there will matter? I hope so, I sooo want to be chosen!"

Annie laughed, a little surprised by this outburst, and very well pleased with herself.

"Yes, we can go to my house and fill the forms" she agreed, the gentle smile still on her face. "But first, drink your coffee, it's probably cold already."

Juliette gulped it in two big gulps, ignoring Annie's pleases to go slower, and dragged her out of the coffee shop. Good thing her flat was just around the corner, otherwise she would have to run after Juliette for more than just five minutes, and she wasn't fit enough to survive that.

They took their forms the moment they stepped inside, Juliette's excitement affecting Annie too. The questions were simple: height, weight, caste and occupation, known languages, hobbies, one paragraph to present yourself. The fact that they still wanted for every girl to answer those questions was a bit weird: the Selection was supposed to be a lottery, why would they need to know any of those things if they weren't going to matter?

Antonella might've been many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. She answered the questions truthfully, but was feeling a little uneasy at the thought someone might judge her based on so few things.

She didn't say it outloud – there was no need to discourage Juliette, and she wanted that place so bad – but it bothered her.

"Do you think there will be lots of people waiting to return their forms?" Juliette asked, her bubbly self shining through again. They decided to take the bus this time, the only Province Services Office to far for them to walk on foot.

"I hope not" Annie answered, making her way through the crowd. The city center was always busy this hour of a day, and it seemed today it was even busier. Soon Antonella could see for herself just how many people decided to join the Selection.

From the very door of the Province Services Office started a huge line, full of young women with the familiar looking pieces of paper in their hands.

"Oh".

They just stood there, looking at the line in stunned silence – sure, the Selection was a great event, but the whole city counted less than twenty thousands citizens, how many of them could be female and right age?

"Well, I guess we'll spend a while here" said Annie and took her place at the end of the line. Form in hand, her friend just beside her, she thought she could do it. After all, wouldn't it be just magical to find love and become Illéa's future queen?

* * *

**The Heinrich mansion, Bellingham, Columbia  
Marlene Yuriko Heinrich, Four**

Marlene was standing in the middle of her family's home living room, an untouched black coffee in front of her. She didn't want to be here, not after all this months of trying to be everywhere _but _here. This place had way too many hurtful memories, the ones she forced out of her mind, the ones that appeared in her dreams almost every night, as if her subconsciousness was set on haunting her till the rest of her days.

"Marlene, darling." Marlene turned and took a deep breath, trying to look calm and collected, just as she was supposed to be; her mother never liked when she displayed her emotions, better not irritate her now.

She could leave the pain for later, when she's alone in her little flat (the one she rented the moment the news reached her and the sight of her family home was too much to bare), with a piece of paper and a pen in hand, free to write everything down, no matter how sad and heartbreaking her thoughts were. Now she had to play her part, no matter how tiring it was.

"I'm very glad you came. Your father and I have some things to discuss with you."

Marlene moved slightly, her posture still too haunched for a lady like her, but she was in no way changing it. She had no strength to sit straight for another hour.

"What is it, then?" she asked, hostility visible in her voice. She wasn't supposed to be here, not when _he _wasn't.

Someone walked into the room, and a familiar figure sat in front of her. Marlene tried not to frown: her father wasn't the nicest of people and and whatever it was what he wanted to tell her, she was sure she wouldn't exactly like it.

Father always cared more about his own interest than his children's happiness.

"You must know we want to talk about our family business" he started, his cold, steady tone infuriating in a way Marlene couldn't exactly explain. _He _never liked father either.

She turned her head away, looking into those blue eyes, exactly the same as _his_, too much for her to handle, for not to break there and now.

"It's been almost half a year since your brother's death, is high time you take his responsibilities" father explained calmly. _How could he be so indifferent?_ "You were always our brightest child, you know your way in business, I'm sure you'll be the perfect heir for the company. Of course, you'll need to work with me and my assistants more often, but I talked with them already, they'll gladly help you improve your knowledge."

Marlene clenched her teeth, the conversation already feeling way too improper, violating _his _memory. Father talked like _he _could be replaced, just like that, no second thoughts.

"Is that all?" she asked, her voice unusually cold. She just wanted to get out, and quickly.

"No, it is not." Marlene closed her eyes for a second and tried to compose her thoughts. She took the cup of coffee Sammie made for her the moment she appeared, with her usual smile and kind nature; the drink was already cold, but she didn't care. She wasn't going to drink it, she just needed something to keep her hands occupied.

She stayed silent, just looking at father, no warm feelings in her eyes.

"Our family's reputation is endangered ever since Maximillian's death. We need some good publicity if we don't want to strain our hotels' good name. The upcoming Selection of Crown Prince Oleander is the perfect opportunity to deflect people's attention from your brother's death and focus on you."

Marlene listened in silence, too stunned to say anything. The Selection as a distraction from what happened to _Max_? Was father serious, proposing such thing after everything he did?

She felt anger boiling in her, and she couldn't bare that calm, cold stare any longer.

She snapped.

"You can't be serious!" she huffed, her eyes wide. "You do realise it's your fault it happened? You were never happy with him, you always criticised everything he did. Why do you think he started taking in the first place?"

She felt hot tears at the corners of her eyes; she wiped them angrily.

"He did everything you asked for, and still he was never good enough. How can you just sit here, being all calm and pretending it's no big deal? How can you plan what to do to make people forget, as if he never matter anyway? Max killed himself and it's your fault! It's your fucking fault!"

She was full on crying, the anger she kept hidden throughout all these months finally out. Father was a bastard, she hoped he knew that.

He just looked at her, waiting for the tears to stop; Marlene was breathing hard, her cheeks warm from anger.

"Are you done?" he asked, nothing in his presence showing Marlene's outburst affected him in any way.

She laughed, the sound broken and bitter.

"Yes, I am done" she replied, eyes avoiding her parents again.

"Great."

_And it was heartbreaking, the simplicity of it:  
A father that never loved his son, a daughter that mourned it._

She wished she had a pen with her.

"Just as I said earlier, the Crown finally announced the Selection. You'll apply; we have your form here, you just need to fill it. I'll take care of the rest; I have enough contacts to make sure you have a spot, so there's no need for you to worry that pretty head of yours."

Marlene listened, her thoughts chaotic. _Being a Selected in Prince Oleander's Selection?_ As much as she wanted to hate the idea, just because it was a way for father to take attention from Max's death, she was more than willing to go; everything, just to get away from this place for a little while longer, until all the pain goes away and she can finally breathe.

Marlene nodded, looking straight into father's eyes.

"I'll do it" she said, her voice steadier than before, full of power, just like the _old her_. Father smiled – something that hardly ever happened – a ghost of Max in his blue eyes.

"I knew you would, Marlene" he replied, taking his leave. "You were always the sensible one."

She didn't have an answer to that; as much as she wanted to oppose, there was some truth in the sentence: as much as she wanted to run away and go to Europe, become a poet, her family came in the first place. She needed to be strong and take care of their business, something neither one of her sisters could do.

But she was ready to disappear, even if just for a week.

* * *

**Hello again! It took me one more day to post the chapter because as always I decided to change one whole POV last minute, I'm just that person #sorrynotsorry. But still, here we go again, hope you like it! I had fun writing all the POVs and exploring new characters.**

**The beautiful girls you met this chapter are: Alexandra Gibson by _The Cruel Pringle_, Johanna Moremont by _TechnicolorNoize_, Antonella Vela by _ArkoseAnna_ and Marlene Heinrich by _MissArtsy_. Thank you so much for submitting them, they're all amazing. Hope you like the way I write them!**

**Next chapter you'll meet another four amazing girls, stay tuned!**


	6. Chapter 5

**The Royal Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Margaret Saffron Iosua, Duchess of Waverly**

The last two weeks were exhausting. Saffron couldn't remember the last time she took a break, constantly going through some files, helping prepare the palace for the arrival of the Selected, contacting people His Majesty wanted to work for that event. She just wanted to stop for a moment and take a deep breath – but she had a job to do and not enough time to do it.

She still couldn't comprehend why His Majesty was so set on starting the Selection so soon. Two more weeks before announcing it would be perfect to get everything ready, and it wouldn't make much of a difference. So why not wait these two more weeks?

She tried asking, but the only answer she got was that _it wasn't her place to ask questions_. So she stopped and returned to work, just like Richard expected her to.

It bothered her, the fact that one moment she was treated like a fully fledged daughter and princess, and the next she was just another employee, easily replaceable and of no value. She could understand how hard the whole situation was: she wasn't king's daughter from his marriage, but she was older than both legitimate children. She wasn't supposed to inherit the crown, but she was still a noble, thank to His Majesty giving her a title only members of the royal family had. Many people were confused as how to address her: Her Grace or Her Royal Highness, Margaret or Saffron? Was it allowed to call her King Richard's daughter, or wasn't it?

She could understand many things, but the way King Richard treated her wasn't one of them.

She took all the files she was supposed to take and headed to His Majesty's office: to her surprise, Oleander was already there, looking at some document with his brows furrowed.

She put all the files on the table and took her place beside her brother.

"That's every single proposal we got so far" she said, father's face turning in her direction. Amanda was sitting beside him, his dog, Alexei lying calmly next to the chair. Queen Vivian wasn't in sight, neither Ophelia; so it was just them four for now. Good. Anyone else would be way to biased when choosing the girls, better not give them an opportunity to manipulate the result of the Selection.

"Did you have an opportunity to look through them?" His Majesty asked, not even one muscle in his body moving. He was sitting stiffly, his unseeing eyes turned towards a white wall; a sight that at first terrified her, but now provoked no reaction.

"I did" Saffron said and took the files into her hands. "Some of them are fairly interesting, I think we have some strong competitors here."

She was looking for one file that immediately caught her attention; before she could do that, Oleander put his hand on her arm.

"Wait, what are you talking about? What proposals?"

Of course, Oleander wasn't around when His Majesty and her talked about it; he probably wasn't aware of half of the things he was supposed to know before the girls' arrival, about the Selection and it's preparation.

Well, if he'll attend all the next meetings, she can spare a minute to explain everything to him.

"The proposals we got from several families across Illéa, regarding the Selection, of course" she stated calmly, but it only caused Oleander's eyes to widen. "What I mean by proposals is all the people that offered to pay the crown if their girls will be chosen for the Selection."

The silence fell and in Oleander's eyes Saffron saw he was processing that information. She couldn't blame him; the moment she found out people actually paid to have their chosen girls become Selected she was shocked as well. The mere thought that people would pay thousands just to see someone chosen was weird to her, especially considering there were only thirty five places total, one for each province. No amount of money was a guarantee of a place, it was still in crown's hands to decide which of said girls to choose, if any at all.

"Wait, they actually pay to be in the Selection?" Oleander asked. "_**My**_ Selection?"

Saffron rolled her eyes, not able to contain herself.

"Yes, Oleander, your Selection. You are fairly attractive and you are a prince, so of course people would pay to have a chance to become your spouse."

That, at least, seemed to convince Oleander she wasn't bluffing; he just looked at the files in front of her, now curiosity visible in his eyes.

"So, anyone interesting?" he asked and she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes again. She elbowed him instead. "What? I'm just curious to see who'd paid to meet me!"

She didn't comment on that but she smiled subtly. It was such an Oleander thing to say; but she understood him, if she was in his place she would be curious too.

"As I was saying, before you interrupted me" she started once again, looking for one file "I did find someone interesting and I think you should have a look."

Finally, she opened a file just to be graced with a photo of a pretty, young girl, with long, dark blonde hair and the most delicate features she had ever seen in her life.

"Sonja Phannachet, a Two form Fennley."

"Phannachet?" His Majesty asked, turning her way again. "Like Kyron Phannachet?"

Saffron nodded.

"Yes, the same one. She's his daughter…" She didn't have a chance to end the phrase, father interrupted her again.

"No. We can't have a daughter of a criminal in the Selection, especially when we don't know if she was involved."

It was a valid concern, Saffron knew that, but she read the whole file and had people check backgrounds of all the proposed girls that cached her attention; there was no proof Sonja was in any way involved in her father's drug business.

"I do know that" she tried, determined to get her message through. "But there's no proof she was involved in any of her father's businesses, quite the opposite, she was the reason the police was able to get him arrested. Also, her mother is form Zhao family, so Sonja's practically a One. Her heritage itself is a good reason to consider her. Also, her mother's trying to cut off all her ties to Kyron, she and her kids live with the rest of Zhaos, clearly want a clean slate."

His Majesty wasn't convinced, but at least he was listening to her.

"She's a socialite, she definitely knows her way around upper class, so she would have perfect manners, something I can't say about other proposals. She also regularly volunteers, and that's always a good look. She's interested in politics, is a great speaker. All I see is potential for her to be a great queen; compared to all the actors and singers we have from Fennley she's an excellent choice."

Reginald was silent, thinking about what she said to him. She understood his concerns, she really did, but she didn't want to see a daughter losing her chance just because her father was a criminal. She herself was being blamed for her father's poor choices, even though she wasn't alive when he made them; she wasn't going to let others blame another child for their parents' crimes.

"I'll think about it" His Majesty finally said, putting his hands on his lap. "Any other interesting choices? Not actresses or singers?"

Saffron looked at the files in front of her and took a moment to think. To be honest, most of the people that wanted to pay were typical Two superstars, no actual knowledge nor talent for ruling to offer. But there was one file with several girls in it: sent by one person, Earl of Bonita.

"Remember how you asked me to contact Henry Schreave? He sent several forms from the girls that work for him, all seem like great choices."

Henry Schreave, Earl of Bonita, was Oleander, Ophelia and her second cousin, hardly ever staying in touch, but a great man nonetheless. When she talked to him, he was not only happy to hear from her, but also ready to help the crown and encourage his employees to apply. He later on talked briefly about each one of them, pointing out their strong sides, and she was grateful for that; she made notes, making sure she would share them with His Majesty.

"Wonderful to hear, I'm glad he supports us." Reginald smiled, a rare view. "What did he say? Any girls that we should especially consider?"

Saffron opened the files and took out the forms she found the most interesting.

"They all seem like respectable young ladies, fit for the court. All sixes besides one four, a manager. The manager I would definitely consider, seems like a great candidate, hard working, has great social skills. Also, there's Ameerah Pankhurst, a head maid, Henry claims she's a very bright young woman, very polite and well mannered. There's also Malina Edwards, a cook, bilingual, her mother's from France. I think we should choose one of them from Bonita, unless we get someone better until the 10th. Henry did give me a lot of information on all the girls, many of them spent years working for him, so they all had contact with a One already. That's an advantage not many candidates have, and we need to choose some girls from lower castes, preferably Sixes or Sevens, even if just to fool people into thinking it's still a lottery."

They all knew she was right; they had to accept several girls from lower castes, so it was only natural they would try to find among them ones that would fit the best the role of a queen. Every girl with experience of working for a One had a huge advantage, so all the girls sent by Henry were a valid choice.

"Alright, we have two Sixes from Bonita; put these forms aside, Saffron, we'll go back to them when the submissions are closed."

She did what she was asked for.

"Alright" Richard said. "We have two girls from Henry, we have a Phannachet girl, now we should go through all the other candidates. Will you read the forms, please? Saffron?"

The rest of their short meeting was monotone and full of rich Twos more interested in entertainment than any sort of service to the country. Most of them were from either Angeles, Waverly or Fennley – all three provinces with huge entertainment market, so it wasn't surprising. Some of them might even make it to the Selection – like that one actress the whole country loved so much, Marcy Stokes. But honestly, all the forms seemed similar, the only things changing were the names and photos; all the girls surprisingly loved art and would die to have Prince Oleander write a song about them; all of them knew at least three languages or so they claimed.

In the end, Saffron was even more exhausted than when she read the forms for the first time, making notes to each one of them.

"That would be it for now" Richard said, standing up, Alexei by his leg already. "You can take a break now, I'll call for you later."

Saffron smiled and with simple: _Yes, Your Majesty,_ left the room, Oleander following her closely.

"It was nice having you here today" she smiled at him. "Although I wish you said something, gave some input. It's your Selection."

Oleander looked embarrassed, hand on the back of his neck, eyes downcasted.

"Yeah, I know." His voice was much quieter than normal. _That's new._ "It's just so surreal. I'm literally choosing my wife right now, how am I supposed to do that before meeting any of them?"

Saffron wasn't expecting to hear that: she, herself, never thought about it that way. For her the process of choosing the Selected was just that: a process they had to go through in order to have the event happen. But it was true. Oleander _was _already choosing his wife, because one of those thirty five girls would marry him at the end.

"You'll be fine. Just choose the girls that catch your attention, higher chance you'll actually like them."

The silence fell between them; Saffron observed with a bit of worry how reserved Oleander was.

Yesterday she would give anything to see him so quiet and obedient, but now that she was witnessing it, she wanted to go back to how things were.

_Terrifying._

"What made you attend the meeting today?" she asked instead, just to have him say something. "Don't tell me the idea of Selection is growing on you!"

Oleander just laughed, his face momentarily lightening.

"Oh no, I'm still as disgusted with the idea as always" he assured her. "It was Fin. He told me he'll kick my butt if I don't fill my duties, especially regarding Selection."

"Finley?"

Saffron was surprised; even though Finley was the sensible one, he was still Oleander's friend, she expected him to take his side.

"Did he really call you at 7am to make sure you make it?"

That was some dedication; Saffron wished she had friends like that.

"Oh no, he stayed the night. He and Dash are determined to have me do something about the Selection, take my future into my own hands, as they say. I thought it wouldn't hurt to try. I don't want father to choose all of the girls, that'd be a suicide."

Saffron didn't know Finley was spending the night, but it seemed these days she knew hardly anything that wasn't about the Selection.

"Is he still here?" she asked, truly curious. When Oleander looked at her questioningly, she specified. "Finley? Is he still here?"

"Yeah, Dash's going to join us soon. Wanna come?"

It was nice of him, to invite her, but she had work to do. As tempting as taking a break sounded, she didn't have time for that.

She will take a break when the Selection starts.

"Sorry, I still have work to do. But have fun."

They parted, he heading towards his room, she towards her own.

"And Ander?" she told him before he walked away. He just raised his brows questioningly. "Please come to the next meeting. It was nice having you there."

Oleander just smiled in response and Saffron couldn't help but smile back.

* * *

**Bellagio Casino, Las Vegas, Fennley  
Sonja Phannachet, Two**

Sonja was sitting at a bar stool, her eyes fixed on a tv screen placed above a rich collection of alcohols – the Report was on, Faye Bradshaw's smile bright and perfect. Royal family was present again, Crown Prince Oleander showing on screen for a moment, probably talking some nonsense about the Selection. Saffron wasn't invited; a pity, she was hot, it'd be nice to look at her.

She lazily stirred her bright red drink with a straw, looking around the casino with no interest in her eyes – she didn't even know what she was doing here today, she just knew she didn't want to stay at her uncle's place any longer. She was already treated like an intruder there, no reason to worsen her mood even more.

Someone stopped right beside her and with laughter audible in their voice said:

"Excuse me, can I have one mojito, please?"

Sonja just rolled her eyes; whoever the woman was, she still stood way to close, especially since the area around the bar was empty. She turned to face her, only to find her already looking.

"It's so cool, isn't it?" the woman asked, her dark eyes shimmering brightly in dim lighting. She was pretty: heart shaped face with big, expressive eyes and cheekbones to die for. Not nearly as attractive as Saffron Iosua was, or even Faye Bradshaw, but still pleasant to look at.

Sonja could as well flirt a little, have some fun; it was awhile since someone worshipped her, and she definitely deserved to be worshipped.

"What is?" she asked, her voice smooth, something people always complimented her on. The woman smiled once again.

"The Selection" she said and Sonja had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, hard. _What was with the girls getting so worked up because of the Selection?_ Sure, Prince Oleander was cute, even hot as other people told her; he was rich and the heir of the crown, so his fame was in some extend understandable; but really? Isn't getting so excited about everything connected to him and that stupid contest a little _too _much?

Sonja didn't get it. Maybe because men were the last thing she found attractive.

"I don't see how" she finally answered, not hiding her skepticism. She stirred her drink again, not even bothering to drink it.

She was bored. She needed some good entertainment.

"Well, I think it's amazing so many girls will have a chance at living their own princess love story." The woman must've been set on talking with Sonja, because she sat at the stool next to her, taking her own drink from a bartender with a grateful smile. "It must be amazing, having all those beautiful gowns and balls all the time!"

Sonja risen her brow, checking her companion out: body fitting, black dress, jacket and some high heels. Nothing looking expensive enough for Sonja's family to wear, but not cheap. Probably some well off Three or Four, or some poorer Two.

"If you're here, I imagine you have enough money to buy those on your own" she said, showing her most charming smile. "Am I wrong?"

The woman bit her lower lip, looking at her curiously.

"No, you're not."

Sonja tucked her hair behind her ear before asking:

"So why Selection? Are you submitting?"

The woman just laughed, a quite pleasant sound, Sonja noted.

"Oh no, I have no intention of submitting" she said merrily. "If the prince was a princess… maybe. Maybe I would."

It was time for Sonja to smile.

"It seems like we have something in common, then" she said, turning away and focusing on tv screen again. It wasn't a most subtle move, but the woman was already interested, she would take the bait, no doubt about that.

"And what is that?" she asked, just like Sonja predicted.

_Easy_. It was too easy, but it would do, for now.

"_If the prince was a princess_" Sonja singsonged, her voice alluring, just a little hoarse; she sipped her drink slowly, her eyes not leaving her companion.

She loved watching their reaction whenever she used that voice; how their pupils dilated just a little bit, the faintest sing of arousal.

She loved the fact it was her and her only that caused this reaction. The woman at the bar wasn't any way different from the rest.

"You never told me your name."

Sonja turned away once again; she wasn't planning on revealing her name, no matter how pretty the woman's face was. Her last relationship ruined her whole life, she wasn't going to take any more chances, not now, not anywhere soon. Not after _her_.

She felt sick again, thinking about her father's arrest. _How could she be so stupid?_ How could she trust someone so two-faced and deceitful? She never trusted anyone and of course, this one time she actually started to care, it all turned out to be one big lie.

She hated Danielle with all her heart; if that was even her real name.

"I'm Susan." Sonja needed a second to realise the woman was still sitting beside her and just introduced herself.

She smiled, hiding whatever guilt she felt behind her red lips.

"Do you play poker?" she asked, changing the topic, an idea forming in her head. She came here to forget about her fucked up family, she could at least have some fun.

The surprise was visible in Susan's face and the woman clearly didn't know how to react to that question. Sonja waited patiently.

"Just a little. Why?"

For the first time this evening Sonja's smile was real. She took her drink into one hand, her small bag in the other.

"I need entertainment" she shrugged and drank the rest of the alcohol in one big gulp. She placed now empty glass on the bar, her red lipstick staining the edge of it. She turned away and started walking to her favourite part of the casino: poker tables. In whole Las Vegas it was here, in Bellagio, where the best players played, and she was one of them; as she herself often repeated.

Already several feets from the bar she turned away, smiling triumphantly when she saw Susan watching her.

"Are you coming?" she asked. "If you impress me enough, I might even reveal you my name."

With that she flipped her hair and walked away, enjoying the weight of Susan's stare.

* * *

**The Cox farm, outskirts of Labrador City, Labrador  
Daneya Malias, Seven**

Daneya couldn't help but sigh when she finally sat down after a whole day taking care of sheep and running outside. She liked her job – as much as one could like it, anyways. It might have not been the best paying one, but it was alright: she could spend her time on fresh air, far away from all the people, no one to bother her. Every time she gone outside, she felt free: just as free as the animals that surrounded her, free to do and feel whatever she wanted, towards whoever she wanted. The days spend on the field were the best days in her usually average life.

Of course, Marina Cox wouldn't let her have this moment of peace; not if she had a say in this.

She was smiling brightly when Daneya entered the house, but her smile turned bitter the moment she laid eyes on her.

Marina was a beautiful women, sweet and innocent looking as long as she kept smiling.

"You're done already?" she asked, her dark pink lips turning into an ugly frown. Her red hair was loose, made in delicate waves; she was dressed nicely, much nicer than normal, and she clearly wanted to look her best.

"Yes, I did" Daneya answered simply; she learned long ago that there was no use in trying to oppose Marina and her bitter manner. Instead of listening to whatever else Marina was saying, she's gone to the kitchen, wanting to make herself some tea. She always made it for everyone, so she took four mugs and filled kettle with water.

Someone else entered the kitchen and placed a hand on Daneya's shoulder.

"Hello, Daneya." Jaxon Cox didn't smile when he saw her. To be honest, Daneya wasn't sure if he ever smiled to her. He was a stern man, with a firm exterior, one that never said much. Daneya prefered him much more to Marina's company; at least, whenever they stayed in the same room, the silence that surrounded them was in no way awkward and uncomfortable. With Marina… well, everything with Marina was uncomfortable and irritating, not that Daneya could ever say so. Not as long as she wanted to stay under Mr. Cox's roof.

She made the tea, her hand steady, and took the mugs to the dinner table. Jaxon just nodded her way, silent as always, while Marina didn't spare her even a look. _What an uncultured cow._

"I had the most exciting day today, papa!" Marina exclaimed, her voice pitchy in all the wrong places. "I was in the city, in the Province Services Office. I applied for the Selection, isn't that exciting? No other girl looked as beautiful as I did, so I will definitely have a place in it. I'm so excited, papa! I'm gonna be a queen!"

Daneya promised herself long ago she wouldn't be unkind towards Marina, but she couldn't help but snort when she heard her. _Her, being a queen? _The Selection didn't even start yet, they still had to choose the girls and let's not forget the whole affair was a lottery! How one pretty picture was supposed to guarantee a place in it, especially this early?

Her reaction didn't go unnoticed; Marina was looking at her, her eyes squinted.

"Why are you laughing?" she asked, her voice even more pitched when she was angry. "We both know no _Eight _would ever have a place in the Selection, there's no need to be jealous."

Daneya flattered herself she wasn't easily angered, but Marina's comment was too much; it wasn't the first time she showed her prejudice towards lower castes and it definitely wasn't the last. The fact she addressed Daneya as an Eight, when they both knew it wasn't true, only added fuel to the fire. And as much as Daneya was grateful for having a roof over her head, she refused to take those comment any longer.

"The Selection is a lottery, a _Seven _and a Two have the same chances of being chosen" she said, trying to stay as calm as possible. No need to provoke an argument in front of her brother's and her guardian.

This time it was Marina who snorted. And she didn't hide it in any way.

"And you think the Royal Family would let a mere Seven into their home? And one with no family nor house of their own at that? The one that should legally be an Eight? You're being stupid, as always. There's no way someone like you would ever be chosen. Better come to terms with that already."

Daneya was a patient woman, but Marina always knew how to make her composure crumble.

"Marina, that's enough." Jaxon was looking at his daughter, his eyes firm. She just pouted and took her mug into her hands, hiding behind it.

"Daneya, why don't you go rest for a moment, while Lux and I prepare dinner?"

He was smiling at Lux brightly, visibly favouring her brother; Daneya didn't mind that, it meant her brother still had a chance for a good life, especially with Jaxon's help. She smiled, too, already calmer, and stood up.

"Please, call me if you need me" she said and left the dining room, Marina's angry stare not leaving her even for a moment. She needed to take a deep breath, be alone for a little while longer.

She knew that compared to other candidates from Labrador she wasn't in best position: after her father's accident her parents became Eights and she and her brothers remained Sevens only thanks to Jaxon Cox. Royal family definitely had access to that information and that would probably place her as one of the least fitting candidates for queen; the only things that could save her were the lessons her parents gave her to make sure she could be a queen one day and the fact that whole event was supposed to be a lottery.

And she wasn't sure if that last thing still applied, not after a scandal King Reginald II was part of.

Marina was right in a way, as much as Daneya didn't want to admit it.

But when she sat in a chair, her empty form in hand, all she wanted to do was to prove her wrong, caste be damned.

* * *

**The Heikki Mansion, Albany, Waverly  
Tuuli Freyja Heikki, Four**

Tuuli was furious.

Today was supposed to be her big day. Today was supposed to be all about her intelligence, talent and dedication. Today she was supposed to find out she was CEO of Heikki International.

She never anticipated it would be her brother who got the position.

Her brother, Torsten Freyr Heikki, who would rather attend a party at some sketchy district than to spent his time working. Her brother, Torsten Freyr Heikki, who straight out refused to go to university, telling how he didn't need it anyway. Her brother, her twin, nowhere near as dedicated to anything, not even smoking marijuana, like she was to the company.

If that wasn't demeaning, Tuuli wasn't sure what was.

She felt betrayed. She was so sure that with all the years she spent working and attending Harvard Business School, the best and the most demanding business school in the country, she would be the only reasonable choice for CEO, after her father stepping down. She worked for it all her life. She wanted it. She deserved it like no other person.

But of course her lazy, ignorant brother would be given the position, just like always, everything served on a silver platter.

_A bunch of sexist assholes. Hope they'll choke on all that money._

She had to get away from the house; she didn't want to spent any more time here than necessary, not when no one here treated her with all the respect she deserved.

She took her phone, looking briefly at her contacts, wondering who she should call. Selene was probably training at this hour, Henrietta had children to take care of (and even though Tuuli loved kids, she was in no mood to bear their company, not after the news). That left James; he was probably working, but he was a CEO, he could take a break for her.

She just wrote him a message, already leaving her house, taking one of the cars; _I'm coming to BB_, just that.

He would wait for her, she was sure he would.

Buren Biotechnology wasn't that far from home: so ten minutes later she parked beside a high, glazed building, one of many in that area. She liked it – it was well designed, looked good both from the outside and from the inside. Whoever chose the furniture and colour palette knew their job very well: different shades of creamy whites and dark greys looked futuristic and professional at the same time, and many plants adorning the hallways only made it seem more domestic and pleasing.

She greeted a secretary sitting behind a desk in front of the entrance; she just smiled at her.

"Miss Heikki, Mister van Buren is waiting for you in his office."

She knew the way, she visited James here many times in the past; and just like that one secretary, many employees knew her face and who she was.

Good. She worked to be recognizable hard too.

James' assistant stood up the moment she saw her and said the same thing secretary said: only her Tuuli had never seen before. Hmm. She would have to ask about her later.

She entered the office like she owned it, her walk confident; James was used to that already so he only smiled.

"What do I owe this pleasure?" he asked, putting some files on the side. He looked good today, his hair a little mussed, as if he run his hand through it a lot, the first buttons of his pristine white shirt open; but his brown eyes, the ones she fell in love with once upon a time, were full of worry, and Tuuli didn't like it. Not even one bit.

As if this day wasn't bad enough already.

"I needed to get out" she decided on saying, kissing James' cheek in greeting. She sat in front of him, taking first file and looking through if briefly.

"Father finally stepped down" she continued, trying to contain her anger. "Torsten is a CEO."

"What?"

Honestly, Tuuli reacted just the same the moment her father said Torsten was taking his position, a proud smile adorning his face.

"Is he completely mad?"

James was just as furious as Tuuli was, and it was comforting, even if just the tiniest bit. It was nice to have an ally like him, someone to see all her worth and treat her with all the respect.

_Fuck you, dad._

She sighed and put down the paper.

"I know, I'm just as surprised as you are. Torsten, seriously? He never done one day of work his whole life, this company is as good as dead already." She put her hand into her hair. "And he wanted me to be Head of PR, can you imagine? The audacity! After everything I did for this damned company!"

She still couldn't believe it, that all her work was for nothing, that her own father found her unfit to run his business only because she was a woman.

_He can suck it. He and Torsten both._

"So, what did you do?" James asked. Like he didn't know the answer already.

"I refused, of course" she said, her voice much calmer now that the reality was finally catching up to her. "I did everything to be a CEO one day, I'm the best candidate for the position; if they don't want me, then their loss. I'm not gonna take such a demeaning position just to please them. _Especially _to please them. Torsten can burn the whole company down, I don't care."

The moment she said that, she realised it was true: as far as she was concerned, Heikki International could bankrupt and she wouldn't care.

She hoped father will regret not giving her the position _sooner _rather than later.

"And what now? Any ideas what you're going to do now?"

She looked at James intently; she remembered the days they dated very well, they both completely in love with each other. They made a great team, understood each other perfectly; if not for the lack of sexual attraction, they migh've been a great couple.

But all these months Tuuli spent in relationship with James showed she was able to work with someone else. She could try to make a different alliance, a relationship even, with someone much more powerful.

"Now that you mentioned" she started, her smile cunning. James raised his brows and smiled.

"What devilish plan you have in mind?" he asked, leaning in his chair. He knew her well, too well maybe.

"They're still submitting forms for Prince Oleander's Selection" she answered. "And I might be just the person they're looking for."

* * *

**Town center, Coeur D'Alene, Belcourt  
Charlotte Newmann, Six**

Lottie didn't like running.

She wasn't in bad shape – she was used to running from one work to another, constantly moving, never stopping – but it always took a moment to catch her breath after sprinting and little droplets of sweat that she could feel running down her spine made her shiver.

But if she wanted to make it, she had to hurry. Province Services Office was closing in twenty minutes, and Lottie still needed them to take her picture; and if she wasn't the only girl trying to submit her form last minute, they could send her home and tell her to come back tomorrow.

She didn't have enough time tomorrow, nor any other day till April 10th, so it was her last chance to send her form.

_Naomi will kill her if she doesn't make it._

"Excuse me" she said squeezing between some teenagres who took all the space on the sidewalk; they looked at her funny, probably judging her ruined shoes and sweat stain on her snow white shirt, but she had no time to bother.

She just needed to make it, for both her sister, Ally's, and her own sake.

_Fifteen minutes._

Someone bumped her, hard, and she almost fell onto a man walking the other way. Almost – because she regained her posture last minute.

"Hey!" she started, her brows furrowed, looking at the person that hit her. The kid – not older than fourteen – was already walking away, not even sparing her a look. She wanted to run after him and tell exactly what she thought about his behaviour – but then she remembered the time, or rather, the lack of it.

_Shoot._

She started running again, determined on making it on time. They would have to accept her form, she would find a way.

She made her last turn and almost cried when she saw Naomi standing in front of Province Services Office building: she would bake her something special in thanks, it was only fair.

"Lottie, finally! I was worried you wouldn't make it!"

Lottie stopped beside her friend and hugged her.

_Ten minutes._

"I saved you a spot" Naomi continued, her light brown hair in Lottie's mouth. "There's only one girl before you waiting for her photo to be taken, so we have to go."

Lottie knew Naomi was her best friend, but when she told her in the morning while they both shared a shift that she might not make it, she wasn't expecting her to go to the office herself, just to save her a spot. She would do the same for her, honestly, but it was still nice to see her sacrificing her time to help her.

"Thank you! I owe you big time." They both entered the building, Naomi's hand in hers, and took their place at the beginning of a small line. "How do I look?"

Naomi just looked at her with her brows lifted high.

"Like you just run a marathon and now you're trying to catch your breath?" There was a laughter in her voice and her eyes shimmered just as brightly as when she was making jokes. Usually Lottie would tell something back, but now she had other things to be worried about. She started frantically fixing her hair – _why didn't I think of taking a comb, stupid!_ – when her friend stopped her.

"Hey, Lottie, here." Delicate fingers started combing her hair, tucking it behind her ears.

"Now." Naomi smiled brightly, proud of her adjustments. "Now you look like a princess."

"Next!" some voice shouted, making both of them jump; Lottie laughed, a little more relaxed now that she knew she looked presentable, and moved to a small space behind a camera, mouthing _thank you_.

She made it. Now she only had to get in.

"Look into the lense, please" said the photographer, her voice beyond annoyed; Lottie kind of understood her, a whole day dealing with overexcited girls must've been rough. She, too, wanted to lash out sometimes, especially after another demanding customer treating her like dirt; she was in no position to judge this woman.

She took her photo with a smile and moved to another grim woman behind a desk, a light pink plate with "The Selection submissions" written in bold black font beside her. Lottie placed her newly done photo and her selection form on the desk and smiled her profesional, at-work smile.

"I would like to submit my form" she said, customer voice on. The woman just rolled her eyes and took both papers.

"Yes, darling, you and all the rest."

Lottie didn't comment – she really wanted to, but she knew exactly how awful a day behind that desk could look like. No reason to act like an entitled Two.

"Everything seems fine" the woman said, putting the form in some machine, than into a box full of other forms, and clicking something on a computer in front of her. "Your form's accepted, congratulations."

Lottie never heard a more monotone voice in her life, but she just smiled and headed out. Naomi was still there, waiting for her, and Lottie couldn't help but laugh when she joined her.

"I really hope I won't have to go back here in at least several years" she said, still laughing. "I had enough fun for a lifetime."

Naomi joined her.

"Yes, it was exactly the same when I was submitting, only there was way more girls waiting. I don't envy those women their job, that's for sure. If you could see that one Two, she came in like she owned a place and expected everyone to bow to her like some sort of a queen. Ridiculous."

Lottie agreed. She hated being looked upon just because of her caste.

"I just hope they don't choose someone like that for the Selection" she said, taing Naomi's hand in hers again and heading towards her third and last job: Kim's Boutique, where she and Ally worked at. She still had a moment before she had to start, thanks to her boss' generosity.

"Yes, it would be so nice if one of us got in! Just imagine, how amazing would it be, to have a real-life princess love story?"

Naomi smiled and Lottie smiled back; she wanted in for the money, the love wasn't necessary for her to survive, but that was a fact no one had to know.

"Yes" she replied. "Yes, it would."

* * *

**Who's surprised to see the chapter? I sure am, after six weeks of trying to write something and immediately deleting it I have to say I wasn't sure when the chapter's going to appear. But here it is, hope you'll forgive me the long break. I promise you it won't take six weeks for next one to appear! (Also, I really need to write faster, I want to get to all the juicy stuff.)**

**The beautiful, strong girls you met today are: Sonja Phannachet by Millyna, Daneya Malias by SexyBonBon, Tuuli Heikki by Slytherwitch and Charlotte Newmann by mnbvcxz-xx. Thank you for submitting them, they're amazing! Please, tell me what you think about them!**

**Only six girls left to introduce, next chapter you'll meet another four girls. Can't wait to show them to you all!**

**Hope you're staying safe during that hard time! Wish you all health!**


	7. Chapter 6

**The Royal Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Princess Ophelia of Illéa**

Ophelia was bored.

The moment she got back from France, all she had to do was try another set of dresses she brought back with her or play with her large makeup collection. Her only companions, besides her mother, were maids, coming every day to help her with practically every single thing imaginable, all her days filled with the same things, same distractions, in other words: boring.

She wanted to spend some time with Oleander, but he was nowhere to be seen.

_Probably spending all his time with Saffron_, she thought bitterly, not able to resist the feeling of disgust that clawed at her every time she thought about her step sister.

Step sister. _What a bullshit._

She had to find herself something to do sooner rather than later, or else she will die from boredom.

She took her expensive smartphone and looked through her contacts.

The problem was, her friends forgot what day she was coming back from France and she was at odds with them now: her pride hurt too much to actually try and talk to them. They didn't want to talk to her the moment she got out of the plane, so they didn't want to talk to her at all. They would lose her completely, she didn't care; it's their loss.

She's gone through the rest of her clothes, the ones she already tried millions of times and considered trying them once again. _What else could she do?_ Everyone in the palace were completely taken with preparations of this stupid Selection, even the guards didn't want to flirt back when she tried to catch their attention.

_Demeaning._ That's how it felt.

Finally, after looking at a beautiful, champagne gold dress, she decided to actually leave the safety of her room and look for the only part of her family she truly and completely cared about: Oleander.

If he was sitting in his room, drinking with his friends, she would be mad.

But he wasn't in his room: no one answered to her knocking, and the doors were closed, so he probably was wondering somewhere around the castle. Why he was moving so much these days Ophelia didn't know.

She headed towards the offices, in hopes that at least her mother would have some time to spare her (and honestly, she was a princess, everyone should be at **her **call, not the other way around). The hallways outside east wing, where royal family had their rooms, were full of people – servants running every way possible, probably trying to prepare all thirty five rooms for the Selected girls (why did they care so much, she couldn't understand). That's how it looked like for the last almost three weeks. The only good thing was that the process of applying was soon to be over, so maybe then she would spend some time with her brother, without the noise of people working around her.

They were making it hard for her to focus, _the audacity!_

Somehow she arrived safely to the west wing, no people to bother her, several guards bright enough to actually recognize her, bow to her and say their greetings, fleetly catching her attention, as she headed towards her mother's study; she didn't bother to knock, she just opened the door like she always did.

Her mother never complained, always smiled gracefully and invited her inside.

This time it wasn't a smile that greeted her: rather a confusion visible in her mother's eyes.

"Aren't you supposed to be in the meeting right now?" she asked, truly confused. "Oleander said he would ask you to come, I thought you would like to help him."

A meeting? _Her?_ She was never invited to any, and Oleander didn't say a thing to her since yesterday's lunch, where they sat next to one another and he only greeted her, the rest of the meal spending with his eyes in his food.

"What meeting?" she asked instead, her curiosity awakened, already disappointed that her own twin brother didn't bother to ask her help.

_They were supposed to do everything together, till the end of their days, weren't they?_

"About the Selection. Reginald wanted to talk about some social events they could involve the Selected in, Oleander thought you would have some great ideas. You know so many people, darling, they could definitely use your help."

It was true: she was the socialite of the family, everyone who wanted to be someone was making sure they met her at least once. Ophelia was _**it**_ when it came to royal family, the popular one, the friendly one, the ideal, story-like princess.

Everyone wanted to know her and to meet her, the future Selected included, so why didn't father ask her for help?

She was attending so many balls and parties, she knew how to act around upper class and how to gain their love and adoration. If they wanted the Selection to have at least one event worth mentioning, they had to involve her in preparations.

She was Princess Ophelia of Illéa, no one had as much grace and taste as she did.

"Well then, I'll get going, see if they have any ideas worth executing" she said to her mother and with usual hair flip she left her study.

She didn't know why didn't anyone contact her and tell her about the whole affair; yes, she hated the idea of the Selection, especially because she knew how Oleander didn't want it to happen, but still, she could help. She could organize a ball and then show up there, looking like a _**real **_royal and show all those queen-wannabes that they could never raise to her level, all the while smiling her prettiest smile.

She opened the door, dismissing a guard that tried to stop her with a move of her hand, and entered the office where most meeting were having place.

Father rose his head, hearing the door open, and looked her direction, probably surprised he was so rudely interrupted.

"Phelia." It was Oleander that greeted her, once again, just like he always did; but in his voice, instead of happiness, she could hear a surprise and worry.

Why would her presence worry him?

"I've heard you have a problem preparing social events for the Selected" she started, not minding wide stares Oleander and some of the royal advisers were giving her. She had a right to be here, more than they did.

Father spoken before anyone else could:

"There are no problems for you to solve, Ophelia, you may leave us now."

_What the…?_

She blinked several times, the white light reflecting tiny pieces of gitter on her lower eyelids; _what did father say?_

She tried again, only this time much more powerful, using her best commanding tone:

"I have the biggest experience attending social events, of course my input is crucial for the Selection to go as planned. So what are the events? Do you have any plans at all?"

She would win this round, she always did.

She wasn't called a princess for nothing.

But father just kept looking her way (his eyes looked terrifying, so empty and cold, made her shiver in the worst way possible).

"Didn't I make myself clear? We do _**not **_need your help, Ophelia, now please, leave."

No.

_Nonononono._

It could not be happening. Not again.

"Who's responsible for them?" she asked, standing up to look more demanding (not that father could see that). She was getting angry. Real angry. Why couldn't she organize an event? Because what? Because she wasn't Saffron? Because she wasn't spending her whole days kissing dad's ass just to get some more power? "I can replace them, I know I can, I…"

Father interrupted her again.

"I said no, Ophelia, and that's non negotiable. You _are not_ going to have any input in that Selection, do you understand me?"

"Why?" She was now full on fuming. How dare he, _the old, sexist, prejudiced, blind…_ "I'm the best person for this job, why can't you understand!?"

"GO."

She slammed her hand against the table – she had enough.

"You wouldn't say no to Saffron, JUST ADMIT IT'S BECAUSE I'M NOT HER!"

"No." Reginald was also standing now, and sometimes Ophelia wished she could see the rage in his empty eyes. "It's because the last time you organized an event, you invited a drug dealer, that's why! I will not have you doing anything for the Selection, whether you like it or not. Don't you think even for a moment that just because you're clean now I'll let you go and fuck up yet another thing. _I will not_ have my daughter running around the nobles high as a kite and passing out in a corner, in her own vomit. _I will not_ have you abusing any stimulants, _I will not_ have you drinking any alcohol or skinny dipping in the fountain. You will sit here, watching the Selection until _**I**_ decide you're responsible enough to take one task and not turn it into a mess. Do you understand?"

Ophelia felt numb; everything seemed hazy, like a fever dream of sorts, only ten times worse and way too hurtful. Tears pricked her eyes and she couldn't take a breath, some invisible force squeezing her lungs.

He did not say that. He did **not.**

"I hate you" she said, channeling all her anger into these three short words. "I fucking hate you!"

She left the room, hands shaking, hoping no one seen the tears finally wetting her cheeks.

She felt humiliated.

How could he say that, with everyone listening! She was a princess, god dammit, his daughter! She deserved to be treated like one, not be scolded like some…

Like some child!

She was full on crying when she reached her room. The guard that was standing by the door just looked at her, alarmed.

"Did something happen, Your Royal Highness?"

She ignored him and slammed the door.

Her hands were shaking, she couldn't take a breath; she wanted to go back there and slap father, humiliate him, just like he humiliated her, that _lying, egoistic, demanding, stupid piece of mother fucking shit!_

She took a family photo she had on her desk and tossed it onto the ground, hard. Tore it into a million pieces.

The door opened and the guard stepped in, gun in hand.

"Is everything alright, Princess?"

She didn't need him.

"Get out!" she screamed, and when he just stood there, looking at her all concerned _(I don't need your fucking pity!)_, she took a glass that still stood on her desk and threw it at him.

"I said GET THE FUCK OUT!"

She missed, glass smashing on the wall behind him.

She turned away, clenching her hands on the table and trying to breathe.

_How the hell could he?!_

He hated him! Him and Saffron, with those stupid smiles and stupidly intelligent words, always way to calm, way to appropriate, hiding behind words and piercing stares. Stupid, stupid Saffron, who ruined everything, as always, _**fucking whore.**_

She didn't know when she dropped onto the floor, sobbing, but when the haze left and she stopped seeing red, she realized that's what happened: she was clutching table leg, her makeup probably tarnished.

Just like always, after one of her episodes, what came after was _shame_.

She brushed her hair from her face and wiped her tears away: smudges of mascara and foundation staining her fingers. She stood up, trying to tame her dress; she must've looked awful, with half melted makeup and dry tears adorning her cheeks.

She needed to get a grip of herself; she was Princess Ophelia of Illéa, she could do it.

She looked at the pieces of glass on the floor, something, that once was a photo family and a glass.

The door were still slightly ajar and even from where she stood, she could see that guard, the one that came inside to check if she was alright, standing there, watching her.

Ophelia approached him, opened the door fully and gave him a once-over; she needed a moment to understand it was the same guard that came on the airport, the one that was looking at her, obviously charmed by her beauty, the one she was planning on playing with.

Now that Declan wasn't around, he didn't seem as boring as she first thought; there was actually something pleasing in his face, in his grey eyes, even though she wasn't sure what exactly.

She rose her brows, her light eyes looking at him firmly.

"If you're already standing here, then maybe help me clean?"

It wasn't a question, she expected him to follow when she turned around and started picking up all the bigger pieces of broken glass.

She could call a maid to do it, sure, but…

Ophelia was always different, after the episodes, nicer. She just wanted to forget, wanted everyone to forget.

"What's your name?" she asked the guard, not sure herself why she even cared; she never cared before, unless she needed to know who to call in case of an emergency. But it seemed the guard will stay around for much longer than she anticipated, maybe knowing his name wouldn't be that bad.

_It wouldn't hurt to know his name, in case he ever sees one of her episodes again._

"Roeyl Malias, Your Royal Highness" he answered, approaching her and taking all the glass from her hands. He had nice hands, she noticed, similar to Oleander's, with slim fingers, delicate to the touch.

She smiled and stood up; watched him toss all the glass into a small bin she had beside her desk. She needed to take one deep breath to be able to look him in the eyes, when she said:

"I'm sorry." Princess Ophelia of Illéa never apologized. "I hope I didn't hurt you, it's the last thing I wanted to happen."

It was hurting her pride, the fact she had to apologize to a random guard, but not more then the fact _he saw._ He saw, so how long will it take him to fully understand what was going on? How long will it take him to understand she was rotting and the whole family tried their best to camouflage the smell?

He couldn't tell anyone. They sent off way too many people already, the ones seeing too much, asking uncomfortable questions, spreading rumors, not knowing when to stop; and this time Ophelia'll make sure, herself, Roeyl won't tell anything. He won't, he can't, _she won't let him._

But he just smiled at her politely (or more then politely? She wasn't sure) and said:

"I'm fine, Your Royal Highness, no need to apologize."

Did he pity her? Was that it she saw in his eyes? Pity?

"I'll call one of the maids to clean" he said and turned around, looking around the floor. "Please, be careful not to step on the glass."

She just nodded and watched him leave the room, close the door quietly.

_Roeyl Malias. _She'll remember that name.

* * *

**Apartment in Punta Pacifica, Panama City, Panama  
Elise Rose Overton, Two**

Elise was ready to film her newest video.

She had all her makeup in front of her, the camera and beauty lights exactly where they should be. All in perfect order, so she could reach for each thing without worrying that she can't find it.

Her friends, when they saw how prepared she always was to film her videos, just laughed at her, called her a pedant.

Maybe they had reason, but she still saw nothing bad that she liked to have her environment ordered. She found it to be her strength, to be honest.

She started the film and smiled her most perfect, sincere smile.

"Hello, everyone, and welcome back to my channel! It's so nice to see you again, you look absolutely stunning today!"

People often repeated she changed when she was in front of a camera, that she was the sweetest person on earth the moment she started filming, but Elise liked to think she was always like that: genuine and nice, open to people and different points of view. It wasn't just for camera, she truly believed she was that person.

But she had to admit she didn't greet all her friends by saying how beautiful they looked; so maybe they had a point.

"Today I have a tutorial many of you asked for, for days! And when I say for days, trust me, I got so many messages from you, guys, I just had to do this. Even now, when I'm filming it, I still receive some."

It was strange at first, surreal, talking to a camera and not even once hearing something back – and at the beginning she wasn't comfortable with it, at all. It took her a while to be fully herself while filming, to crack jokes, looking into camera lense, laughing in an empty room. Her family also had to get used to it: the fact they heard her talking to herself, all the mistakes she did and later cut out from the videos, all the slips of the tongue, many times hilarious, that she never showed to the world. Now that she lived alone it was easier – she knew no one would bother her while filming, she also didn't need to worry about passing cars, she lived high enough not to hear them.

"So today we're doing a…" she paused for the drama effect. "Yes, a Selection photo makeup! The admissions for Crown Prince Oleander's Selection are still open and if you're thinking about applying but don't know what kind of makeup to wear, I hope you'll find this video helpful!"

She didn't know why so many people asked for the Selection makeup tutorial – or rather she knew exactly why, it was the only thing media talked about for the last almost two weeks, but at first she didn't know how that kind of makeup could be special.

Then she decided to do a tutorial for her own makeup look, the one she had while taking her Selection photo. It was a good idea, to do a full on glam makeup look, with bold lip and shimmer in the center of the eyelid; it's been a while since she did something like that.

She took her foundation and started applying it while talking.

"What you need to remember while doing makeup for a photo is that you'll need a slightly different technique than while doing your everyday makeup. I recommend using a matte foundation, the one I chose for today is Estée Lauder Double Wear foundation, I'm using shade 1W2."

She was in the middle of applying it when her phone rang. She answered, put it on a speaker.

"Hi, Hannah, how are you?" she asked, making sure her foundation looked good before putting her brush down (she always did her foundation with a brush, never was a fan of beauty blenders).

"Heard you applied for the Selection."

Even through the phone Elise could hear the disappointment in her voice.

"Just give me a sec, I'll turn the camera off" she said quickly and stopped filming. Only then she sighed and admitted "Yes, yes, I did."

"Why would you do that? Didn't you say it was a _rather objectifying tradition_ just a week ago?"

Elise did say just that, but things changed. She still thought it was objectifying, but she had her own reason to enter, a reason good enough to actually risk being objectified.

"I still think so" she answered, not even a trace of her previous energy left in her tone. "I just… things changed, Hannah."

"What exactly changed? You know how bad that Selection could help me, I thought you'd just… stay away so I don't have any more competition."

Elise knew it – it was no secret Hannah was close to being cut off by her family and she had no real talents to offer the world and was scared she'd end up on the streets, like some Eight – but at the same time, Elise was just one more girl, there were thousands applying already! How big were the chances she would be the one chosen and not Hannah?

"I know that, Hannah, I just… So many people enters, there's no way I'll be chosen, and at least my mom stopped bothering me about marriage. Promised to leave me alone for a while… and for sure I'm not getting married in a foreseeable future!" They both were silent for a moment, just breathing into their phones. "I'm sorry, I really am, I just…"

"No" Hannah interrupted her. "There's nothing to be sorry about. You never promised not to do it and I never expected you not to… I'm just so scared, Elise! What if they cut me off? I can't stop thinking about it, I have nothing else, nothing I'm good at!"

"Hey, Hannah, stop!" Elise knew that panic way to well, got acquainted with it last months, since the very first talk Hannah's parents had with her. "Why won't you come to my place? I'll finish filming and we'll figure something out, together."

Elise was always the one helping her friends out, she was caring like that; and if Hannah was actually as scared as she sounded, letting her stay alone at home wasn't an option.

Her friend just stayed quiet for a moment and Elise waited patiently.

"Okay, I will come. You're the best, Elise."

Elise smiled.

"Love you, babe" she said and hung up.

Hannah was coming. She didn't live far from here, so it'll probably take her twenty minutes max to get here. She needed to film as much of her video as she could, so they could have some more time to talk.

Elise turned the camera on once again and smiled.

"Now that our foundation is on and perfect, we wanna highlight certain areas of our face. And remember, just like I said earlier, we're using a slightly different technique this time!"

No one watching the video later was able to tell she stopped filming for a moment.

* * *

**The Pasadena Playhouse, Pasadena, Sonage  
Allegra Portia Holloway, Five**

Allegra loved her job – the rush of positive energy that filled her every time she took brushes into her hands and started turning ordinary into extraordinary. She loved it when people gave her challenges, wanted her to be a little more creative, original, leave some sort of mark, so anyone seeing her job would know it was hers.

Being a makeup artist was as much fun as it was hard.

Her today's gig was at Pasadena's biggest and best theatre, with centuries of great reputation and even more amazing plays. The makeup looks she needed to do where rather simple: the only obstacle being time, which they didn't have. Beside her on the team were four more people, twelve actors to take care of and just half an hour for each one of them. They needed to work perfectly in sync with each other, helping and communicating, making sure each actor's face was perfectly done and would make just as much impact on stage as needed.

Allegra was almost done with her last client tonight: a young actress, petite and pretty, and clearly nervous.

"Done" she said with a smile while one of her colleagues made sure makeup looked fine. "Good luck, I'm sure you'll do great!"

The girl (a woman, probably, even when she didn't look like one) just smiled back and was gone.

And just like that Allegra was done for today. She breathed out, hard; she could go back home.

She gathered all her things, looking into a mirror one time, just to make sure her own makeup was intact – but she looked fine, nothing unwanted in sight.

She left the theatre with a smile on her face.

She didn't live far from there, maybe half an hour walk, and the day was beautiful, sun still warm, so she decided to walk, enjoy her solitude for a while.

At home she was never alone.

As amazing as seeing her work on stage was, gigs like that one were the ones that stressed Allegra the most; she could already tell in a few moment her whole back will be incredibly stiff, from standing and bending too much, and from overthinking.

She'll do some yoga when she's home, that should help her out.

It felt great, to have so many hours after work to do something – she was hardly ever free this soon, she still wasn't sure what she'll do with all that free time.

_Maybe practice some social isolating, since all she did lately was work in teams, managing more than one person at the time._

She entered the house with happy: _I'm back_ on her lips. She could hear some noise from her mother's workroom; she entered and smiled, seeing her good friend, Beatriz, work alongside her mother.

"Allegra!" Bea smiled at the sight of her, her hands covered in paint. "How was it? Is Pasadena Playhouse as glamorous as they say it is?"

Allegra just giggled and replied truthfully:

"It is a little overwhelming, indeed. But the makeup came out great, the whole team was so nice. And what are _you _doing?"

It was her mother – Beatriz's mentor and an amazing painter herself – that answered.

"We're actually done here for today. There's Report starting in a moment and everyone says Faye Bradshaw has some exclusive info on Selection. We can't miss that now, can we, Ally?"

She looked at Allegra knowingly – and of course, every new information on the Selection Allegra would gladly take. She applied, after all, it would be nice to get to know the Crown Prince before the whole thing started and while the Selected still weren't chosen. While she still could resign.

"Sure, I'll prepare something to eat real quick and join you there!" she said, curious what did Faye Bradshaw find and what other gossip was she ready to share.

The whole country lived and breathed the Selection, and Allegra wasn't that much different.

When she entered the living room, food in hand, the Report was already on; mother and Bea were sitting next to each other, looking at the screen excited. Roman was nowhere to be seen, just like father – and while the absence of the second man wasn't nothing new to Allegra, she was surprised her brother wasn't here, watching the Report with them. Probably decided he didn't have time to listen to that _Selection stuff_, still not fully convinced Allegra's participation was a good idea.

Allegra sat next to her friend and watched.

As always Faye Bradshaw looked absolutely stunning, almost like a princess herself. Next to her was David Sinclair, also looking perfect (clearly with the help of some good makeup artist; no one looked that good in front of all the lights without even a little bit of product on). The royal family was nowhere to be seen, to Allegra's surprise, and soon it became clear why: there were no big news regarding the Selection, no gossip.

Whoever started the one about today's Report clearly knew nothing about the program itself; and even though it was infuriating, how easy it was to make people believe something, Allegra couldn't be mad at that person.

Being mad wasn't part of her nature.

After the Report Beatriz said her goodbye – she'd probably be back tomorrow, for some more lessons from Allegra's mother. Allegra just smiled before standing up herself and heading to her room, wishing her mom goodnight.

She still needed to stretch a little, so her back doesn't kill her the next day.

She entered the bathroom, pj's in hand, and stopped in front of the mirror. As always, before showering, she had one more ritual to do: taking her makeup off.

She washed her face using coconut oil, watched the foundation go away, skin beneath it finally visible.

And Allegra looked at her own reflection, at that awful, awful scar that adorned her face for so many years already, and traced it with her fingers. She sighed.

She loved her job – the rush of positive energy that filled her every time she took brushes into her hands and started turning ordinary into extraordinary.

* * *

**Belle Epoque Bar, New Orleans, Midston  
Cecelia Eloise Sullivan, Two**

New Orleans was the most beautiful place in the world, that much Cecile learned during her first day here.

On the second and every other day after she learned it was the only place she wanted to live in in whole Illéa.

She loved the atmosphere of the city, beautiful, old buildings, signs made from wood, only few skyscrapers tearing the sky apart. So different from Angeles and Cambridge, and so much better!

Sylvia also loved it, maybe not as much as Cecelia, but was ready to stay here for more than a year. Good, she needed her friend close to her.

Tonight they decided to go for a drink or two, to their favourite bar in the city: Belle Epoque, placed in french quartier, famous among the locals and tourists alike. From the first moment Cecelia stepped there, she knew she'll visit the place often. She loved the green walls, visibly marked by time, the smell of wood you felt the moment you stepped in. She loved dark furniture and comfortable sofas, loved rich selection of alcohols. She also loved the fact that none of the bantenders asked her ID and just gave her the drinks, since she wasn't old enough to buy alcohol.

They chose the same table they always did, bought their drinks and started talking.

And now they were sitting there, both several drinks in and more than a little bit tipsy, and Sylvia looked at her, smiling her most charming smile; even in her state Cecile knew she'd ask or say something she won't like.

"Soooo" Sylvia started, mixing her drink and watching her curiously. "Will you tell me why you don't want to apply for the Selection? Or are you gonna ignore the subject until the submissions are closed?"

Cecelia almost spit out all the alcohol, she was so surprised; she wiped the liquid from her chin (she hoped no one saw that) and looked at the ceiling, trying not to sound too annoyed at her friend. She did ask that same question several times already, couldn't she just leave it?

"I told you a million times, Ander is Dashiell's best friend and I knew him my whole life."

Sylvia just rolled her eyes. _The nerve._

"Yes, yes, I know" she dismissed her answer like she always did "but isn't that all the more reason to enter? Y'know, you could actually win this thing! You'd be a queen!"

Cecelia just smiled at her.

"I'm a queen already, don't need a crown to prove it" she teased, maybe a little affected by the alcohol, and a little by her own sassy nature. She knew Sylvia liked to call her a diva in response, trying to seem mad but laughing all the same.

But this time she didn't, she had other things to say.

"You could go see your family again" Sylvia continued, looking more like a pouting child than a grown ass woman trying to convince her friend to apply for a tv show where she could win prince's heart.

"I can see them through my phone just fine" Cecile insisted, not giving in. Sylvia knew how to get to her, knew her to well, one of the few people that she actually let in; and now, with alcohol happily travelling through her veins Cecile was sure she'd be much more prone to do something stupid and regret it later.

"Oh, you're insufferable, we're getting more drinks!"

Just like she said, Sylvia gone to the bar and came back with more drinks. Their little gossip-date was quickly turning into full on drinking party. Cecelia didn't mind that much, she too liked to drink and let go sometimes, even if it meant her always sleek and perfect appearance wasn't so sleek and perfect in the morning.

So they drunk more, enjoyed the noise of people dancing few meters away from them and others gossiping by the tables similar to the one they sat at.

Sylvia was talking again, laughing almost all the time.

"I bet you wouldn't apply, like, ever!" She was leaning on the table, clearly not able to sit straight. "You're too much of a coward to do that!"

She? Cecelia Eloise Sullivan, _a coward?_ She must've heard wrong, Sylvia would never call her that, she knew better then to do that.

"I'm not a coward" she answered calmly, and only a delicate slur to her words revealed how drunk she truly was. "I would apply, if I wanted to. And I don't."

"Why?"

Cecelia took a sip of her drink, thinking of Oleander's beautiful, deep blue eyes. She shrugged, something she hardly ever did, in her sober state.

"I don't know" she said, her brain clearly working slower because of the alcohol. "I don't even like Angeles."

It was true. New Orleans was much, much better and she had no intention of leaving it in the foreseeable future. And that meant next five months.

Sylvia sat beside her, almost killing herself while trying to bypass the table. They both burst out laughing, when she fell on Cecile's knees, her balance and vision clearly affected.

"You're soooo drunk" Cecile said, pushing Sylvia off of her. They were still laughing, silly as kids.

"You're the one talking!"

When she finally sat still, she just looked at Cecelia with a dangerous glint in her eye.

"I dare you to enter" she said, something wicked in her voice, and Cecile flinched. _Oh no._ That situation was getting out of control fast and Cecelia didn't like it. "Ha! See? I told you! You're just scared to enter because you like that Ander-boy!"

"I do not!"

Of course Sylvia would mess everything up, just to have a point. But it wasn't true at all, Cecelia was the furthest from liking Oleander as she could be! No, of course she liked him, she just didn't like him _like that. _Romantically. He was nice, they were friends for a while, before she gone to uni and decided to spend her gap year in New Orleans. And true, he was kinda cute, but _everyone _saw that, so it was in no way proof she was interested in him. No way.

"You do, that's why you don't wanna apply, because then you'd have to face him and Dashiell, and we both know he won't be happy. And you'd have to stay in Angeles, of all places, and you hate it, but you always found him interesting, just admit it!"

It was ridiculous, the whole thing was ridiculous, and Cecelia was in no state to discuss it.

"Fine, I'm gonna do it!" she said, standing up and trying to find her balance again. _Stupid alcohol!_ "I'm applying so you can just…" she threw her arms up, not remembering the words. "We have to take the form from my place and fill it in, hurry!"

It was definitely a stupid idea but even the stupidest ideas made sense when one drunk enough. But if she was going to regret it tomorrow (if she even remembers she did it), good thing there were way too many girls in Midston for the crown to ever choose her, right?

* * *

**Earl Henry Schreave's mansion, outskirts of Merida, Bonita  
Ameerah Pankhurst, Six**

Henry wanted them all to apply.

When he approached Ameerah the other day, asking if she was going to apply for Crown Prince Oleander's Selection, all she felt was confusion.

She could understand his reasoning, when he told her, after that one fateful night they kissed, that they were never meant to be, but _this?_

It was just hurtful, to have him look her in the eyes and tell her he wanted her to join the Selection, to fight for his second cousin's hand and heart.

Was she such an inconvenience for him that he wanted her to go so badly?

She decided to forget about the conversation for a moment, she had work to do, other maids to look after and make sure they knew their schedule for today.

But when she went to check on them, carrying a stack of freshly washed bedclothes in her arms, all she could hear was their excited talk.

"I can't believe Lord Henry will send our forms himself, that's so exciting! Do you think it'll give us more chances to be chosen? I sure hope so, it would be so magical, to go on a date with a _real prince!_"

It was painful, listening to this, but Ameerah couldn't feel angry at the girls, not when not so long ago she herself dreamt of attending balls wearing beautiful gowns and dating a prince. That first dream came true, thanks to Henry, or _almost came true:_ she didn't have a beautiful gown, just her regular clothes, the ball was still going on somewhere below her and Henry was drunk, but he asked her to dance with him just the same and when they stopped moving, he gave her the sweetest of kisses that made her breath catch. It was the first and only time they were this close; she was a Six after all, she worked for him, no wonder he didn't want her even after she admitted she wanted him. And yes, till this day a tale of a ball and prince waiting just for her was something she hoped would happen, but no matter how hard she tried, her prince always had Henry's face.

She just shook her head; she had more important matters to take care of.

"Emma, please, make sure the main office is perfectly clean, His Highness will be using it today" she started, looking at the girl with her usual smile. _She could do it._ She could be just as calm and kind as she always was at work, no need to distract herself.

She reminded the rest of the girls what was needed to be done and continued her day.

Like always, she had to take care of Henry's quarters – something she didn't feel too keen on doing, now that she knew he wanted her gone. But she was always professional at work, she had to forget about her feelings, just let it all go.

She didn't meet Henry even once during the day.

When she finally entered her room, all her chores done and all the mansion perfectly clean, she sat at a little desk and looked at the form she left there.

_The Selection._

She never imagined she would hate the idea as much as she hated it now.

When she was younger, she dreamt of being one of the Selected, spending all her days in beautiful clothes, perfectly taken care of. She wanted to be like all the princesses from her favourite stories: with their big romances, love that overcame all the differences and rules. She still found it charming, that so many girls around the country had a chance to find that love, that _epic romance._

Ameerah just didn't want to be one of them.

She looked at that one slip of paper, questions written in small font, and she wondered: could she fill it? Could she comply with Henry's request and write all the information down, voluntarily agree to take part in a love story she didn't want?

No.

She couldn't do it.

She wouldn't be able to do it under any circumstances.

So when someone knocked on her door and suddenly she stood face to face with Henry, she had to take a deep breath to make sure her face was perfectly still.

She didn't want him to see her hurt.

"Did you- did you fill in the form, by any chance?" he asked, not even able to look her in the eyes. If that wasn't a sign he didn't want her here, she didn't knew what was.

"I didn't" she answered simply. Some people would've been mortified, hearing her talk to a One like than, her own mother would, but Henry and her had history. They were more than just the lord and his maid, much more.

Or so she thought, until today.

Henry sighed and tried again. _Stupidly stubborn._

"Please, Ameerah, can you fill it? His Majesty himself asked me to encourage all the eligible ladies to apply. You're one of them."

She wasn't going to fall for that, there was no obligation to apply for the Selection. She opened the door further, stood her ground.

"Exactly, encouraged. And with all the encouragement in the world I still am not interested in being part of it. So if it's just your ploy to get rid of me, just say so. I can find someone else to work for."

Only after hearing her harsh words did he raise his head and looked her in the eyes; _ugh, she sounded far too emotional, he must've heard…!_

"I'm not trying to get rid of you" he denied, his eyes wide with shock she even thought such a thing. "You're my best employee, and you're my friend, I would never…"

_Friend. _That's what she was.

Sad she didn't feel like one lately.

He didn't finish his phrase, stopped mid-sentence and looked away, grabbing his hair just like he always did when he was flustered. He sighed.

"I don't want you to go, Ameerah" he finally said, once again looking at the floor instead of her. "I'm sorry I ever made you feel like I do. Have a nice night."

And he left, just like that, not even giving her a chance to answer.

Ameerah stood there, waiting; for what, she wasn't sure. Only after several beats of her heart passed and nothing happened did she close the door and leaned against it.

She looked at the form, still lying on her desk, with anger.

She showed it into the bin, hoping somehow it'll make the Selection disappear and take all her worry with it.

* * *

**Hi! Since everyone's updating, I decided to update too.**

**Can I just say this chapter is my favourite by far? The tea is finally being spilled, I'm excited to see your reactions to Ophelia and her dirty little secret(s). Let me tell you, the royal family has some more secrets and I can't wait to spill them all!**

**Also, who wondered if the guard that checked her out chapter 3 was only one time appearance? Well, he's not, he'll definitely have some more moments!**

**Beautiful girls you met today were: Elise Overton by Imbal45, Allegra Holloway by Sylea, Cecelia Sullivan by MoonChild913 and Ameerah Pankhurst by SexyBonBon. Thank you for submitting them, they're all amazing! Hope you like them! (And no, I didn't plan on having my two makeup girls introduced one after the other, but I love the contrast of their scenes, how different their jobs are, even if both are doing makeup for a living.)**

**Next chapter you'll get to know two last girls and see more of Oleander and his friends. Who's excited? I definitely am!**

**Have a nice day, everyone, and see you on the next one!**


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